\ 



T-^^'i 



^ 



SAWDUST and SPANGLES. 

A DRAMA 
IN POUR ACTS. 



S^r SPECIAL NOTICE, .^^g 

'\ his book is the private property of the author, and not intended for 
;in ulation. It has been printed simply in order to comply with the law 
i;ov erning copyrights, and not as a publication. All persons are warned 
agafinst producing the same, or any portion thereof, without a written 
permission from the author. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1884 

by JAMES OTIS KALER, in the Office of the 

Librarian of Congress at Washington D. C. 



SAWDUST and SPANGLES. 

A DRAMA 
IN FOUB ACTS. 



m ^ 



^•» ♦-♦^♦« 



COPYRIGHTED 1884. 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 



(P4^^ 



SAWDUST AND SPANGLES- 

APPEARING IN ACT 1 

GUIDA. 

MISS DOAK 

ROSA. 

GOLDBURG. 

ALBERTI. 

FITZWILSON, 

BROWN, 

DALTON. 



*to««»«i«»a 



SAWDUST AND SPANCiLES. 



CAST. 



GUIDA. A foundling-, whose only friend is her enemy. 

MISS ^!ATILDA DOAK, A maiden lady of doubtful age, with a 

predeliction for the opposite sex. 
MLl-E. ROSA, The only and greatest bare-hack rider driving eight 

untamed steeds; hired at an enormous salary by The Great 

and Only Circus, etc. 

STI-VERSTEIN GOLDBURG, Sole proprietor and manager of 
The Great and Only Circus, Royal Menagerie, and Grand 
Ae?rogation of Living Wonders, all under one canvas. 

DAVID FITZWILSON; The only and great Shakespearian clown 
and jester, especially engaged for The Great and Only Cir- 
cus etc. 

SIGNOR .AI/PERTT, Sword-swallower and cannon ball tosser, to 
he seen only at The Great and Only Circus, etc. 

HENRY D ALTON, Ex-journalist and press agent. 

TOM BROWN, A gentleman with a wife. 

ROBERT HARLOW, A judge and a father. 

■ ■ !■ #• •l^ 



4 SAWDUST AM) SPAKGl.KS. 

COSTUMES FOR ACT 1 

GUIDA: [Age 17] A fairly good country dress, with a variety of 

colors, and in bad taste. 
MISS DOAK: [Age 35] Country dress of antique style, and much 

too youthful in appearance. 
MLLE. ROSA: Stylish walking dress, to be changed for ring co-?- 

tume of tights, short skirts &c. 

SIGNOR ALBERTl: Walking suit to be changed for "sword-swal- 
lower's" costume. 

FITZWILSON: Walking suit to be changed for clown's costume. 

BROWN: An attempt by a circus employee to dress like a gentle- 
man. 

ALL OTHERS: Street costume. 

SUPERS: Dressed as acrobats and hostlers. 



SAWDUST AND SPANGLES. 

ACT FIRST. 

Box scene. Stage enclosed with canvas to represest a tent. 



Interior of the property tent of a circus. Saddles, banners, hoops, 
and general circus litter lying around. Up stage are horses being groom- 
ed and saddled. A flap door at R 3 E. leads to mens' dressing-room; one 
at R 2 E. leads to women's room, and at L 2 E. to main tent. The horses 
are led in and out through L 2 E. 

PROPERTIES IN FIRST ACT. 
Saddles, saddle-cloths, banners, hoops, balloons, etc., such as are 
found in the property-room of a circus. 

Spear set against wing L 1 E. for Guida. 
Paper boxes and newspaper parcels for Matilda. 



SAWDUST AND SrANGLES.. 



ACT 1 



SCENE: Interior of the property-tent of a circus. 

Employees going to and fro; saddling horses, posturing, etc. 

DISCOVERED: 
GOLDIJURG Slttinn L. FITZWILSON Sfxtiufinf/ A*. 

GOLD. Then you have seen this girl V 

FITZ. I had heard so much about her from the gossips at the hotel 
that I couldnt resist the temptation. She looks as sm irt as a whip, and, 
according to my way of thinking, she'd work into the business mighty 
quick. And she would be a fine looker, too, in decent clothes. 

GOLD. You're sure there's no one to claim her? I dont fancy 
spending money and time trying to make performers out of these oiuitry 
louts, and then, just when they're worth something in the business, have 
them discover some long-lost relatives, who will step in and demand a big 
salary for them, or switch them off to some other show. 

FITZ. I'll give it to you just as I got it, and then you'll know what 
to do. This girl — Guida, they call her--was left with an old party here, 
by some show people, when she was about two years old. That was fif- 
teen years ago, and since the time her supposed father hired the old 
farmer to take care of her, nothing has been heard of any one who might 
have an interest in her fate. The old farmer who took her is dead, and 
the girl runs around wild like, working first in one house and then in an- 
other, just enough to make her a welcome visitor. If we should take her 
away with us no one would be likely to interfere, and you might get a 
jewel. 

GOLD. And I might gel nothing but paste. 

FITZ. You can find that out before you tii.i!- -j ;ity inidc uim i-.-.-r. 



S.WsDisT AND SPANGLES. 7 

I have }>roi!iisci'. an eniinently respectable maiden lady that she shall have 
a free ticket to the show if she will bring the girl in here before we open 
up. 

Enter ALBERTI R 2 E. 

ALBERTI. [Spcakhiff in'ffi a hrnad Tfi.sh (Ualect.] Mister Gold 
bug, I'll be after thankin' you to get some dacint lad to go wid nie into 
the ring. 

GOLD. Why Signor Alberti, what is it that is troubling you now ? 
It seems to nie that you have more than your share of sorrow. 

ALBERT!. Sorrow, is it ? .Sure an iver since my name's been Sig- 
nor Alberty its been nothing but a ruction an' a row. But I'll have no 
more av it, if I'm forced to murther the howlin' blackguard you've hired 
to assist me in the ring. 

HTZ. For heaven's sake, Mickey, dont give yourself away so badly 
on your brogue, or people will mistrust that you're not /talian, 

ALBERTI. May the divil fly away wid yez; you're all the day 
throwin' into my teeth the bit of a brogue that I have, when I could toss 
a cannon-ball or swallow a sword jist as well Ijy the name of Mickey 
Dowd, as I could wid Signor Alberty tacked onto my head. But I'll have 
no more av it from this day out. 

GOLD. Why not? What kind of a bee have you got in your bon- 
net now ? 

ALBEKTT. Its a bee that has'nt an aisy way av settin' on my 
stomach. Will I be after tellin' you what that dirty spalpeen that you 
hired to assist me in me wonderful exhibitions, when hiven knows he's 
not worth the value of the salt he ates, did to me last night? It was 
when he handed me the longest sword, an bad luck to the man that didnt 
rut the matter of fn e inches from wan end or the other of it, that I had 
tile suspicion that some blackguard had bin molestin' av it; but the 
spalpeen that should be tendin' on me when its half the time that he's 
suckin' his thumbs, said to me on the low of his breath to be iiuick about 



8 S.\VV13UST AND SPAXGLKS. 

it, an' down she went av course. VVhat'll you be after thinlriii' was the 
result of it? 

FITZ. Why you tocjk it out again, I suppose. 

ALBERTI. Be the piper that phiyed befo.e Moses, I did; for it was 
covered that thick wid wheel-grease that the stomach inside of me did 
more ground and lofty tumblin,: than iver th.it little jackanapes that 
whoirls over the elephants could do, Av that blackguard goes inter the 
ring wid me this same d.\y, Ac'W .vaV. out a dead orpse, or me own 
mother won't recognise me. 

GOLD. Very well, Signor, we'll make some arrangements, if possi- 
ble, to-day; but if I can't iind some one to take his place, you'll have to 
get along with him for a day or two longer, and I'll see to it that he puts 
no more wheel-grease on your swords. 

.ALBERT!. It's the honor of me profession I'm upholdin'; but I'll 
spare his worthless life for the space of twinty-four hours, an' thin his 
body'll be cold. 

FJxU ALBERTI, (/rumhUncf, to drCH-shig-room R^ K- 

ri'i'Z. Something's got to be done with that man, or he'll make no 
end of trouble for you. 

GOLD. Never mind him; I can get plenty of sword-swallowers 
cheap, and I'll send him about his business soon. Regarding this girl: 
I'm getting quite anxious to see her, for, to tell the truth, the Great and 
Only's weakest point is in female attractions. If she is as smart as you 
say she is, we might be able to do something with her. 

FITZ. 1 here's no question about it. You can see 

Knh'V ROSA. R 2 K. 

ROSA. Where's the manager? Oh, here you are, iMr. (loldburg, 
and I want you to listen to what I say. I engaged to ride for you 
during this season; but I shall positively cancel my engngeniem lui- 
less I can have a carriage to myself. I will pot licic ;i'j;itM ,1^ I did 



SAWDUST AND SPANGLES. 9 

last night. 

GOLD. But. Mile, Rosa— 

ROSA. I tell you that I will not remain. It is perfectly disgraceful, 
the way in which I, the first equestriene of the company, am treated. I 
w )uld be ( nly too well pleased if I could leave the company at once; but 
1 shall try to fulfil my contract if I am properly treated 

F.TZ. Will you allow me to suggest, Mrs Brown, that it is time for 
you to dress? The perfjimauce will begin in less than half an hour. 

ROSA. Sir, if I am billed as Mile. Rosa, I insist on^being called 
Mile. Rosa, or it will become necessary for one or the other of us to leave 
this show. 

Erlt ROSA into dressing-room R 2 E. 

GOLD. There's another that I would like to discharge if I could 
find some one to take her place, and if that girl of yours is only the right 
kind — 

Al BERTl. {Off stage at R 3 £".] Git out you ould ape! 

ITTZ. She looks smart enough to learn to do almost anything in a 
\ ery short time. 

ALBERTL [0# stage.] Git out you horned toad ! Mister Gold- 
bug, .Mister Goldbug, here's a faymale ape tryin' that hard to git under 
the canvas that I'm powerless to prevint her. Be the powers she'll quare 
the whole show if she's not taken off. 

FirZ goes to R ^ E and looks off' stage. 

FITZ. Why Miss Doak ! Walk right this way. It was in this tent, 
not that one, I told you to come. 

I'lifer MATILDA R 3 E. MATILDA and FITZ dmim stage. 
GOLD 1-ises in surprise. 

MATILDA. I thought I'd made some kind of a mistake when I saw 
th.it orang-outang in there playing with knives. 

ALBEkTI. [Offstagt.] I'll not stand still an' have you call me 



lo SAWDUST AND SPANGLE.^, 

names, you ould Miss Methiisla. I'll — 

MATILDA. [Warinf/ Jier parafs'tl.] Don't yon come near me, 
Sir, don't you advance one step, or as sure's my name's Matilda Doak 
I'll do you some harm. 

FITZ. Pay no attention to him, Madam; but let me introduce to you 
Mr. Goldburg, the sole propiictor and manager of the Great and Only 
Circus, Koyal Menagerie, and Grand .\ggregation of Living Wonders. 

GOLD. I am plea.sed to .see you. Madam, plea..i;d to see you. 

MATILDA. Are you really ? Well now that's nice. 

FITZ. This is the lady of whom I was speaking, Mr. Goldburg; she 
is the one who promised to bring the young lady — 

MATILDA. I didn't promise to bring any young ladi/. If you 
you mean that tyke of a Guida, I did promi.se to bring her, and I'm sorry 
now that I was so rash. 

GOLD. Why ? 

MATILDA. Why just as soon as we got among all the.e jini-crack 
shows she went right off by herself, and I couldnt do anything more with 
her than I could with a setting hen. 

GOLD. Where is she now ? 

MATILDA. Heaven alone knows! I'm powerless to answer. You 
see when — 

GUIDA [Off MOf/e L 2 E.] Where is that old woman ? 

MATILDA. Old woman indeed ! Hear the hussy ! 

GUIDA. [Offi/ar/c] See here, do you know where old Aunt 
Doak went to? 

FITZ. That's the party! [f iocs to L 2 IS (Utd cnlls.) Come in 
this way, my dear, here is your friend Miss Doak. 

Entrr GUTDA L 2 E. niJUhnt Inhnnd, Mloived hi/ 
DALTON. 



FA\VD!:ST AND SPANGLES. ii 

GUIDA. She hain't my friend any more'n I'm your dear. Now 
what little game are you two swells up to? What did you want. me to 
come here for ? 

GOLD. (Seatitu/ hiviself on <i saddlr, vp stage.) Come here 
my child. 

GUIDA. No I won't. 

MATILDA. {Seating herarlf near GoMbtirg.) Speak to the 
gentleman properly, you ungrateful girl. 

GUIDA. Speak to him yourself if you want to, and I guess you 
do, 'cause I heard Mrs Robinson say once that 3'ou had run after every 
man you ever saw, since you was old enough to wear long dresses, an' 
that was a good while ago. 

MATILDA. I'll box your ears, you unmannerly little thing. 

GUIDA. Oh no you won't, not this time. 

MATILDA. [Rising.) Go right out of here ! I won't allow you 
to stay another minute. The idea of talking so to me before people when 
I'v : been the same as a mother to you ! 

GUIDA. You can go if you want to, but, I've concluded to stay 
awhile, an' if you've been the same as a mother to me, then I'm glad I 
never had a real one. 

Matilda raiJies her parasol as if to strike', Guida catcJies 
up a spcar,and Dalton rushes between them. 

DALTON. My dear Madam, let me speak with her. You are not 
having particularly good luck, and I may do better. 

GUIDA. Now don't you be too sure of that. I come here to see 
the show, I did. and I hain't going to be scolded just because that old 
woman feels like it. 

MATILDA. [Srafiag herself near Goldhurg again.) If I had 
my way— and could catch you— you'd get something more than a scold- 



.12 SAWDUST AM) SPAN* ■,I.!,^. 

ing, you hussy ! 

DALTON. Nobody wants to scold you, child. We had learned x)f 
your singing, and were very anxious to hear you. 

GUIDA. Well now I'm sorry. 

DALTON. Why? 

GUIDA. 'Cau.se I don't go 'round singing for everybody. It's oidy 
when I'feel like it that I sing. 

GOLD. How would you like to tnivel with a circus T Learn V- ride 
or sing, or do anything to please the people who come to see j'nu ? 

GUIDA. [PuiiUiiif/ (o Mafilda.] Is there anybody like her goes 
with the circus? 

GOLD. Well — ahem — well — we have some ladies with the show; 
but 1 am sorry lo say that we have none quite as mature as our estimable 
friend here. [Ucving lovards Matilda.] 

MATILDA. Oh, thank you. Sir. 

GUIDA. [Lauffhituf.) Now look at that old relic! Do-.i'r she 
roll her eyes for all the world like a dtick in a storm ? 

FITZ. Would you like to go with the show? 

GUIDA. I'd like to do anything to get out of this town, for I just 
hate every one in it, and that old woman is worse 'u all the rest. Hut 
what would I have to do? You sec I'm afraid there would'nt be many 
folks come to see me in this gown, an' as for the bunnit, why I only carry 
it in my hand jest to show folks that I've got one, for you can't think how 
bad it looks when it's on. Them flowers was some 'Lizy Johnson 

wore most three years, an' the ribbon I got from the minister's wife, and 
there haint any part of it that's fit to show; but I guess it looks pretty 
near as well as the resl of my rig. 

GOLD. But if you should travel with us you could have everythii g 
new and nice, and you would be dressed as well as :iiiy (.u.- ccn'ld \» ;-'• lo 
be — as nice as any one in town. 



.^AWDUST AND SPANGLES. 13 

GLn>A. Oh, wotild I really? Would I have two shoes to match, 
.■\n' would I have a whole new hat? 

i) ALTON. Yovi could have anything you wanted. 

I\rATILDA. [Quickly.] My dear Mr. Goldburg, I never could 
think of le'.ti g Giiida go away with a circus. She is too yonug to be 
trusted from home, and far too giddy. If you really want a lady to travel 
with you, I might be persuaded myself, and as to testimonials as to my 
character, I could furnisli the very best. 

GUIDA. {Langhing.) Weill never! That old granny goin* 
away with a show ! Wouldn't I like to see her ridin' a horse ! 

DALTON. How would you like to learn to ride? 

GUIDA. Learn to ride? Why I've rode Steve Dyar's horse all 
over the pasture lots of times, and I didn't have to have any saddle either 
though I hain't just sure that I'd like to ride before folks. 

D.ALTON. But I mean that you should learn to ride on a saddle, 
with beautiful cloihes on, and people to wait on j'ou. The audience 
would give you flowers, and the newspapers would praise you. {Matil- 
da huH business of ecstatic delight.) Your name would be posted up 
everywhere, and you would have nothing to do but enjoy yourself. 

GUlDA. Gracious, but I'd like it! 

GOLD. The!i let us hear you sing, and perhaps we will do all that 

for you. 

I^IATILDA. Sing On Greenland's Icy Mountains, and try to 
throw your whole soul into it as you've seen me do. 

GUIDA. I won't either; I'm goin' to sing the same song I heard 
•Lizy Johnson practicin' on; but you must keep that old screech-owl 
[Pointing to Matilda.] quiet, or else I can't. 

DALTON. You shan't be disturbed. 

Uuida does a Song and Dance. 



14 SAWDUST A.\D SPANCLE.^. 

GOLD. Who taught you to sing, child? 

Enter Rosa, in ring eontmne, li 2 K. 

ROSA. Who was that I heard singing? 

GUIDA. [Surjrrincd, Ixtddnij dou)t std'je.) Please ma'am that was 
me. 

MATIIjDA. [iStrtrfinij vp in Horprine.] Go back and dress your- 
self, woman. 

ROSA. IMr. Goldburg, am 1 to be insulted by sui:h l.>w people as 
these, even though they do chance to be jjfmr companions? 

MATILDA. Low people indeed, you bold thing ! 

GUIDA. {Clappinn hrr hands, and lau<jhinf/.) That's it ! Now 
you've stirred Doakey up, an' I do iso hope she'll get the worst of it.^ 

GOLD. Ladies, ladles:, pray be calm. Mile. Rosa, this is a lady 
resident of this town, who has called upon me on business. Miss Doak, 
this is Mile. Rosa, the greatest bare-back rider in the world. She stands 
to-day without a peer in the arena, and her costume, at which you seem- 
ed to take exceptions. Miss Doak, is that in which she appears in the 
ring. 

Matilda sitfi damn ivithoui acknmclrdgin>i the introduction. 

ROS.V, What are these people doing here ? 

FITZ. They came on a matter of business, that is all. 

GUIDA. I'd just as soon tell you what we cam*: for. I'm going 
with the circus, an' I'm goin' to ride, so you needw't turn up your nos« so 
high abniu it. 

ROSA. You — n:e — going — with — the — show ? 

GUIDA. {Mockinij.) Yes — I — am — going — willi — the— show. 

ROSA. Mr. Goldburg, what is the meaning of this? Do you in- 
tend to make of the Great and Only an assylum for tramps? 

MATILDA. [Rising suddenly.] Do you call me a tramp, Miss? 



SAW DUST AND SPANGLES. 15 

CiUIl>A. Co it, Doakey, of course she did. 

GOLD. i\IUe. Rosa, I am thinking of engaging this young lady to 
travel with us during the remainder of the season. 

ROSA. Then you may find some one to fill my place. I will no 
I inger disgrace myself by remaining with a company that finds it neces- 
sary to recruit its ranks from the gutter. 

r:.rif R( )S A hurriedlij R 2 E. 

GL ID A. {Mocichiff r/Ls/itrcs and voice.] Dear, dear, how very sad ! 
I>oakey, have you had your feelings hurt because the swells want to take 
me away? 

D.ALTON. Now, now, child, don't stir up any trouble; for we 
want to make arrangements that will permit of our taking you with us 
quietly. 

GUTDA. I'd like to know what arrangements there are to make. I've 
said I'd go, an' that's all there is to it. 

GOLD. Rut we ought to speak with some one in the town. There 
must be some person who has at least the semblance of authority over 
you. 

GUIDA. Well I'd jest like to see the one who said he could boss 
me around ! Here's Doakey, shetriesitaboutasoftenasanybodyel.se, 
an' you can ask her how she makes out. I belong all to myself, an' I al- 
ways have, so that settles it. I haint saying that I wouldn't liked to had 
a father an' a mother Hke the other girls here; but I never did have any- 
thing like anybody else, an' I s'pose it would a'been too much if I'd had 
reg'lar folks. Now I've said I'd go with your circus, an' I'll go. 

GUIDA dors short Song and Dance, crossing to MATILDA 
af close. 

GOLD. {A.\idc to FITZ ) She's just the kind of a girl that will make 
a big hit after she learns a little of the business. 

FITZ. [Aside to GGLD.] Yes, and the best of it is that there can 



i6 SAWDUST AM-) SPANGLE:?. 

be no question of wages. All you'll have to do ii to dress h(;r up, ind 
if sheer womanly spite won't make her learn to ride better llian Rosa, 
then, with all my twenty years experience of the sorrows of married life, 
I'll say that I don't know anythirtg about women. Try and make some 
arrangement with her, while I go and dress. You may have to propitiate 
ihe old woman in some way, and if I was in your place I would come to 
any reasonable terms rather than lose the girl. 

Exit FITZ. R 2 E. 

MATILDA. {To Guida.) It may be, child, that I have been neg- 
lectful of you in the past; but I shall surely make amends for it now, by 
forbidding you to leave town in such company. 

GOLD. {Quickly.) What's thai? 

GUIDA. It hain't anythinci. Doakey don't know what !o^e■s talking 
about. [Shakiarf h^rfnt at iMd ilda.] Don't you dare to t:il!< that way 
to nie, you old Hottentot, you ! 

MATILDA. I shall try to do my duty in spite of the abuse you 
may heap upon my poor, defenceless head. 

DALTON. Which means, that never having paid any atte- tion to the 
girl before, nor even having had a care as t > whether :-he lived or died, 
you propose now to try to prevent her from L:oing with ui, \\here she can 
earn plenty for herself. 

GUIDA. Well I guess neither she nor anybody else can stop me if 
I want to go. 

MATILDA. I know my duty, and shall do it. 

GOLD. [7'o Matilda.] What do you think about going with the 
show yourself? 

GUIDA. {Laughing.) She go ! Why what would you do with the 
old scarecrow after you got her? She has to have a tumbler of water to 
put her teeth in, and a pumpkin to set her wig on every night, an' as for 
the paint she'd have to take, a whole wagon wouldn't hold it. Oh, I'd 
jest like to see Doakey with a circus. {Laughs heurUlij.) 



!-/i\\I)i;ST AND SP.\Nc:.I.ES. .7 

;\lATIi.DA. LSercreli;.) My heart, susceptible as it is, is proof 
;tg;iinst s^uch inockerj', even when 1 am trying to do good to the mocker. 
If Guida had some female friend a year or tv.o older — 

(tUII'A. [LaUiiJ. 111(7.] Like you, for instance. 

MATILDA. Yes, like me. Then I should be perfectly willing she 
.should go. I could care for her like a mother — I mean, a sister, asd I 
have no doubt but that in the matter of attraction to the public, I should 
prove the stronger one. 

GOLD. \'ery well, we will take you to look out for Miss Guida, and 
when you are able to do anything in the ring that is attractive to the au- 
dience, I will pay you a salary. But, remember, I make this proposition 
only on the presumption that Miss Guida will go. 

MATIIjDA. Of course she will go when she understands that I am 
willing. I suppose you are anxious to have us with you as soon as possi- 
ble, so I will go to my humble but romantic home, in order to pack up a 
few things that may be necessarj' in the way of wardrobe, both for the 
exercises and to travel in. Remain here, Guida, until my return, which 
will be in a very few moments; for I do not want to delay the movements 
of the circus. 

£■.*•// MATILDA, kissing ?ier hand, L 2. E. 
Gl'lDA. [Laufjhinff and imitnfinri Mafilda.] Did you ever see 
such an old kangaroo? But I hain't sure's Lll go if she's going to tag 
along. 

DALi'uN. Oh ye5 you will; for you know you are to have every- 
thing nice, and you see we might have had trouble in getting you away 
if she had made a row. 

GUIDA. I'd like to know how? There hain't anybody anywhere 
that's got any thing to do with me, an' if I want to go to any place, I 
can without askin'. 

GOLJ.\ Then you don't know anything about your father or moth- 
er, nnr nbout any other relatives you may have? 



t3 SAVVDLSr AM) SPAN. 11. Es. 

GUIDA. [Anffl'Uf/.] No, nor I don't want to. Everybody keeps 
askin' me that till I get tired tellin' 'em I never had any parents. Some- 
body left me here when they got tired of such a brat as I s'pose 1 was, an' 
since then I've lived 'round wherever anybody would keep me. Now I'm 
goin' off with you, 1 s'pose, even if Doakey is goin', an' when I get all 
dressed up, yon jesi see how quick I'll come back here an' show 'em 
what I can do if I try. 

DALTON. 1'hat's right; 'ur lirst you must le.un Itmv to ride, and 
then when the circus comes back here, you can show them that you are 
of considerably more importance th«n they. 

Blare of trn.npH off stage at L 2 E. 

PROMPTER. [Of stage at L 2 E.] Now, ladies and gentlemen 
you have an opportunity of se?;ing this wonderful exhibition before the 
big tent is opened, and all for the small sum of ten cents. Here are curi- 
osities gathered from all parts of the world, and 3'ou can see them all for 
a dime. Men without hands or feet, giant boys, fat ladies, living skele- 
tons, wild men, cannibals, pagans, heathen, Hottentots, and Zulus, all 
under one canvas, for ten cents. Remember, the big show will not open 
until after this exhibition is closed. One ticket is only ten cents, and we 
admit parties of five for half a dollar. 

GUI DA. What':^ that? 

DALTON. That's the side-show blower. The big tent will be open- 
ed in a few moments, and I must leave you for a while. 
Exit DALTON li 3 E. 

FROMPl'EK. [Ojtftage at L 2 E.) Walk up now, ladies and 
gendemen, and try your fortune ! Ten cents gives you one turn of the 
wheel, and with it you may win anything from a gold watch to five thous- 
and dollars I One chance for a dime, or three for a quarter of a dollar I 
At the same time Enter Acrobats and Riders fro7n R 3 E. 
Theii crofs staije and Exit Ij 1 E. 
GUIDA looks at them in surpriac. 



SAW DUST AND SPANGLES. 19 

PROMPTER. [OJI stage at L 2 E.) Here's your real lemonade 
w ith no imitation about it; two genuine lemons to each glass, or the mon- 
ey will be refunded on the return of the goods. Walk this way, ladies 
and gents, and try the cooling beverage ! A pint of peanuts at the ridic- 
ulously low price of half a dime. Get your ammunition for the elephants 
before entering the big tent ! 

Enter FITZ, in costvme, R z E. 

( JOIjD. Our only, great, and Shakespearian jester has been rather 
slow in dressing. 

FITZ. The best are always kept for the last. As the divine William 
snys — 

GOLD. Never mind the divine William just now, for you are needed 
in the ring. 

FITZ. I'll to the trysting place, where, with the gentle Romeo 

Exit FITZ. L 2 E. 

GUI DA. What was that? 

GOLD. That, my child, is the only, great, and Shakespearian jester 
known in the arena. 

GUIDA. The only who? 

GOLD. He is the clown; the same gentleman who was talking with 
you a few moments ago. 

GUIDA. Oh, I thought it was a jumping jack. What is he going to 
do? 

GOLD. If you peep through the flap of the canvas there, you can 

see him, and all that is going on in the ring, while you are waiting for 

Miss Doak. I will come back here for you before the show is out. 

E:d' GOLD. L 2 E. 

GUIDA dancts across stage, and then statids peeping 

through flap at h 2 E. 



20 SAWDUST AND SPANGI.ES. 

renter ALBERTI. R 3 E in ring cosfunic. fir comm 
doion stage, and doe/s burlcnqne sword-stvaUmving 
and cannon'ball tossing. 
Enter ROSA, and stand in R 2 E. 

ALBERTI. I^Asid.e.) I'll go in now and paralyze thoni, iiii' if iliat 
Spalpeen puts so much as the breath of his body on nie swords, bedad 
but I'll murther him. [Attemp.'s to i)as-i-; GUI DA, and then stands 
lookin.(j at her adiniriji.,/l,,/.,t 

GUIDA. {Asld-^) Graciou-i! Whut a queer loikiii^ man ! 
En'er BROWN R 3 E, going torrards ROSA. 

ALBERTI. [Aside.] Bedad but she's a beauty 1 I wonder if the 
manager is going to take her on to a<,M-it me in me wonderful exhibitions, 
in the place of the blackguard who greased me swords? If that's wh.Tt 
she's to do, I must preserve a dignified contour as I pass her. 
Exit ALBERTI L 2 E. tvl'h burlesque dignity. 

GUIDA. [Peeinng through jtap-curtain.] Whew ! but hain't 
they just cuttin' up I 

BROWN. [Vp stage.) to ROSA. Now then, Sally, I've got to 
have some stamps, an' then I'm going to skip for the other show. The 
old man hys even given orders th.it I'm not to be allowed around the can- 
vas, .and I had to come in under the tent as it wa.). 

ROSA. Whan are you going to leava 1 

BKOWN. To-night. 

GUIDA. {^Dancing.) Now that's what I call yood ! OIi. if ? cf)uld 
only turn a handspring as well as that I 

ROSA. Tom, Goldburg has taken that girl on, and he's going to 
have her taught to ride. Now I won't have it ! I'll leave here rather than 
have such as she get all the applause and attention while I have to do all 
the work. 

BRO'.VN. But you mustn't leave here, Sally. What would bemn^e 



SAWDUST AND SPANGLES. 21 

of us if you didn't have a chance to earn money? 

ROSA. Why then you would have to go to work, which would be 
sad. But if you think it would be so rough for me to throw up this job, 
prevent it. 

BROWN. How can 1 prevent it? 

ROSA. By getting that girl out of the way. Either she or I must 
leave, and you know how unpleasant it would be for you if I should stop 
earning money. I made a fool of myself this morning, trying to frighten 
(Toldburg into making me an offer of a bigger salary, by proposing to 
cancel my engagement, and he may take me at my word; he certainly 
will if thi;; girl turns out to be a paying card, as I believe she will. 

BROWN. I don't know how to gel her out of the way, — without — 

ROSA. You can easily find out. You haven't got to murder her, 
you fool ! You can make money out of her if you're smart. All you have 
to do is to detain her somewhere until the show goes on without her. 

BROWN. But it will take money to do that. 

ROSA. I will give you what is necessary, and three days after the 
the girl is lost to the show, I will give you the hundred dollars you asked 
for yesterday. 

BROWN. If you was a good wife to me, I'd have that money with- 
out having to do such work for it. 

ROSA. Well, since I am not a good wife, and since I have got to go 
into the ring in five minuits, say whether you'll prevent the girl from 
coming with the show, or not? 

BROWN. It may be that I can't to-day; but I'll follow her until I 
can, and that I'll swear to. 

Enter MATILDA, ivith parcels, R 3 E. 

GUIDA. [Who 1ms btcn looking through L 2 E all this time.) 
If I could only turn a handspring like that I wouldn't want to leani to 
ride. 



j3 SAWDUST AM) SPANCiLES, 

Erit GUIUA hurriedhi L 2 K 

MATILDA. [Dropping her pdrcelH.] Merciful heavcii> 1 She al- 
ready talks of turning handsprings 1 \Vliat will she want lo do after -^W. 
has fairly started 1 

CUklAlN. 

PICrUKi:: MATILDA down stage R ( , lo'.lung .-jCtrr (ILIDA. 
ROSA and BROWN upstage, KOSA pointing towards vvliere GUIDA 
has disappeared, and BROWN nodding his head as if to assure her that 
he will keep his promise. 



NOTKS, 

(.4U1DA is intended to be, in the first act, just such an one ns may 
be seen in the country almost anywhere. Her hard life has made her a 
trifle rough; but by no means coarse. Naturally intelligent, she is quick 
to learn, and this should be shown by her costume, which, though sadly 
out of date and shabby, has evidently been modeled by her after some- 
thing better. Such n character would naturally display a little bashful- 
ness on first entering the tent; but it would speedily wear oft", leaving her 
saucy and independent under Miss Doaks' remarks. 

MISS DOAK should not be made a burlesque character, aiihough 
it may approach it. A love-sick old maid who has sufficient sense once 
in a while to hide her weakness, is what almost every one has seen in any 
country village. The costume, suitable for a much younger lady, should 



rAWDLS'l' AND SPANGLES. 23 

vimjly be ridiculous in contrast with her make-up. 

Mr. 1. 1".. ROSA is the typical circus rider. 

AJjBPvRTI only an Irish juggler, drawn from a living model, and 
should be played as if the actor believed sword swallowing the most use- 
ful and honorable profession in the world. 

BROWN must not be made up to look like the usual stage villain. 
An ordinary costume, and such a face as a young girl would naturally 
shrmk from; but not so villainous in appearance but that it would seem 
possible that he is telling the truth when, later on, he declares himself to 
lie (tuida's father. 

DALTON a good juvenile man, with a certain carelessness about 
Iii? personal appearance, characteristic of the Metropolitan journalist. 



SAWDUST AISD SPANGLES. 



APPEARING IN ACT 2. 

GUIDA. 

MISS DOAK, 

GOLDBURG. 

FITZWILSON, 

ALBERTI. 

DALTON. 

BROWN. 



f» •• <•! 



SAWDUST AND SPANGLES. 25 

ACT SECOND. 

Wood scene. Flats to show circus tents, wagons, etc., in the 

distance. 



Sett trees, sufficiently large for a man to hide behind, are up stage R. 
Sett rock L of C 



PROPERTIES IN ACT SECOND. 

Flowers for Guida. Revolver for Brown. 



COSTUMES IN ACT SECOND. 
GUIDA, Neat walking dress. 
MATILDA. Extravagantly trimmed street dress. 
ALL OTHERS May wear the same as at the opening of 
first act. 



?:6 SAWDUST AND SPANGLES. 



ACT 2 



Four weeks have elapsed since efttsr <>/ jfrsf no'. 
SCENE: A wood, with circus tents, war^oa-,, et>;.. in th'; (list ino'. 

DIS'JOVKR'-:!). 
ALBKKTI .^iffhif/ on fhe roek. 

ALBERTI. By the powers I •!! be after murderin' that old woman 
entirely, or I'll have to lave the show. In the four weeks that she's been 
wid lis, divil a liit of rest have I had f(!r her runnin' after me all the time. 
Bedad, I have me suspicions that she's tryin* to play the matrymonially 
game wid me. If it hadn't been for Guida mavourneen, faith T think I'd 
haN-e fed her to the tigers before this, had luck to the likes of her ! But 
they wouldn't ate her, for that ould woman would be more'n any ordin- 
ary tiger could stand, an' it would be denioralizin' av the whole show to 
put her in wid any of the wild bastes. 

MATILDA. [Offfitaue,] Mister Alberty ! Mister Alberiy ! 

AliBERTI. Bego'-ra she's coming now, an' I must fly wid my life. 
[Rises quickly, and (jocs L.] 

MATILDA. [Offstage.) Mister Albenty I Mister Alberty! 

ALBERTI. Begorra it won't do to fly, for I belave s'le's got the 
nerve to chase clear into the tints. Bad luck to the likes of her; but I'll 
lie forced to face the music. 

MATILDA. {Onstane.] Mistei- Alberty I Mister A!be;ty! 

AiiBER Tf. [Anijrtlii.) Is it me >-Dti*re caHiti'V 
Ivuier MATILDA 1i 2 E. 

MATILDA. In the name of my sex. Mister .Mberty, wait and escort 



SAWDUST AND SPANGLES. 27 

me to the tent. I ga\e my solemn promise to dear Mr. Goldburg that I 
would be present when Guida took her riding lesson, in order that I 
mic;ht give her a few hints, and, at the same time prepare myself for a 
course of instruction in brilliant bare-back riding — 

AIjBERTI. [As-uie.) Faith, an' if it wasn't for the pity I'd have for 
the animal, I'd like to see her on a bare-backed mule. 

IMATIIjDA. l?ut the glorious beauties of nature tempted me out 
here, and ch Idislily, thoughtlessly, I v aiidered so far that I am nearly ex- 
hausted, while my heart beats like that of a startled fawn's. {Sits on the 
rock. ) 

AIjBERTI. [Coming fovardft her.] Was it the beauties of nature, 
of nature that timpted of you out? Sure I saw you when you started, an' 
I'd a* taken me oath you was tryin' to catch up wid Miss Guida an' the 
young agint, Dalton. 

MATILDA. Why, Mister Alberty, did Guida and Mr. Dalton 
come into the woods too? 

ALBERTI. Faith, an' you warn't tin rods behind thim whin they 
left the tint. I was after singing out to the young gossoon to walk faster, 
whin I seen he'd tumbled to the same racket, an' the both of 'em was 
goin' at that i)ace that I knew would soon be after windin' the likes of 
yez. 

^JATILI »A. Why Mister Alberty, how funny you can be at times. 

ALBER'IT. Ef I was half as funny as you look, I'd be after settin' 
myself up for a clown. 

MATILDA. It was ever my lot in life to be misunderstood. I know 
I look childish — 

ALBERTI. Faith an' its your second childhood that you've struck 
into. 

MATILDA. But I can't help it because I am not quite as old as 
some others. 



?° SAWDL'.^l Arvn SPANGLES. 

ALBEKTI. [Asidr.] Sure nn' I'd like to see thim thats older. 

MATILDA. 1 try to dress older than I o(Jc;ht to, simply because of 
Diy youthful appearance, and so that I may seem to be of sufi'nMent ace 
to act as guide and mentor to Guida; l)Ut — 

ALHEKTI. [A.si(fe, rroHning L.) Faith an' her Ijrain has left her 
entirely. 

MATILDA, [(rohf/ f'ni'ru'ffx Jiim.] But st.ry, near, good Mister 
Alberty. pray give me the support of your arm to the tents. 

ALHERTI. [Axidf.) May the saints purtcct me! How'll 1 get 
away from the ould reptile.' I'd rather walk wid a snake— Hegorra that's 
the very racket to fix the uuld cat 1 i 7'o MaHldfi, and start iof/ back in 
mock (dann] For the sake of Hiven, Miss, be after lookin' where yon 
are treadin ' ! See! [Pointinf/.) Its a snake! Preserve your safety t)y 
flight, an' take refuge on the rock ! 

MATILDA. f<cr('(itn.s, rnnti to the rock, and, actlhiu on i.l, 
t/fdherff her clothes aroinid tier, 

MATILDA. Oh Mr. Alberty ! what shall I do ? Wh.u slial! 1 do V 
<Jan you see the monster? 

ALBERTI. Is it askin' me if I can see him yuu are? lAtith an' I 
can see fully one third of his head, wliich is as big as the whole of me 
body. Let no co..siJer.ition timpt you to remove your feet from where 
they are, while I go for a gun to kill the reptile wid. 

Exit ALDERTI hiirrird/fj L 2 IJ. 

MATILDA. Help 1 Oh come back Mister Alberty ! Comeback! 
Mr. (ioldburg 1 Help ! Somebody 1 Help ! Come quick, or 1 shall be de- 
voured 1 Where is the thing? If I only had my glasses here so that I 
could see him 1 Help I Help! Quick! Help! 

Enter DALTON R 3 E. 

MATILDA. [Ruvhiivj totcnrd him, and fallin;/ into hi/) arnns.] 
>aved, saved ! Oh Henry, dear, dear, Henry ! 



SAWDUST AM) SPANClLES. 29 

DA LION. [ Triiiiig io relenfse himself.] For Heaven's sake tell me 
what the matter is, Miss Doal: '? 

MATILDA. [CUriging to him.) Oh let me lie here on this manly 
bosom where alone I can fird rest 

D ALTON looks around in perplexity. Enter GUI DA 

R 3 E carryliui a proftttsion of floiverft; comes down 

stage, sees couple, avd -stands lavghing while 

DALTON tries to piL-h MATILDA to her feet. 

GUIDA. What is it, Duakey, what is the matter now? Mr. Dalton, 

what have you said or done to thro\.' my young friend into such a frame 

of mind ? 

DALTON. Miss Ciuida, upon my word this is none of my doing. 
You know that I did not leave you until we heard her scream, and when 
I came she dropped irto my arms as you see her, I don't even know 
what the matter is with her, and have been trjnng to get her towards that 
rock so that she can sit down, for 1 am afraid she will have hysterics. 

GUIDA. If you want to get rid of her just let her drop hard; that 
\\'A\ shake the hysterics out of her. 

MATILDA. [Starting up.] You shameless girl, to talk so when I 
have been nearly frightened to death. 

GUID.^. What is the matter? I didn't suppose anything could 
frighten you, Doakey. 

MATILDA. It was a terribly large snake that Mister Alberty point- 
ed out to me. I couldn't see him; but he went for his gun — 

GUIDA. Who? The snake? 

MATILDA. No, Mister Alberty; he went in search of a weapon, 
and thoughtlessly left me alone. He surely ought to be back by this time. 

GUIDA. Now wouldn't it be terrible if he had run so fast that he 
had fallen and hurt himself? [Matilda looks alarmed.) Who knows 
but that he is sprawled out on the road somewhere, too much frightened 



mAWDL'ST AiND SPANG.. K.. 
or hurt to move? 

MATILDA. Oh ! The dear man ! Some one ()ii<?ht to fly to I. is n-- 
sistance, and who has a better right than I ^ Oh dear, if it wasn't that 1 
am so terriblj- afraid of snakes, I'd go to him at once. 

GUI DA. Yes, if he should happen to be hurt he v.dtijfl think it 
strange if you did not try to aid him. I have fancied that he has looked 
unhappy lately, when you wasn't near — or, perhaps it was just the other 
way, I'm not just certain which. 

MATILDA. Dear man, how I would like to know that he has suf- 
fered no injury; but how can I leave while there are snakes close by? 

D ALTON. [Eaijcrln.) You needn't fear the snakes. Miss Doak, for 
I saw as many as six running away when you began to scream. I think 
you will be perfectly safe in going to Signer Alberti'u assistance. 

MATILDA. Thank you, Mr. Dalton, I will goat once. Poor, dear 
man, i do so hope he'll know me when he sees me. 

GUIDA. Don't you worry about that, Doakey, I'll guarantee that 
he'll know you. {Laur/fhs. Exit. MATILDA L 2 E.) Say, Mr. Dalton, 
have you seen Doakey trying to ridoV {Laii'jfifi Jicrti'}/ ) Sh*^ insisted on 
taking a lesson when I did yesterday, so that she may bo able to earn the 
salary Mr. Goldburg promised her. I just wish you could have seen her 
costume. In the first place she wouldn't wear a short skirt as Mile. Ilosa 
docs, and I can't say I blame her; then she couldn't manage as long a 
one as I wear, so she made one just between the two that came to the top 
of her boots. She looked so funny that it would have tickled you to <leath 
to have seen her. [Ldiighfi.] 

DALToN. You shouldn't make use of such an expression, Miss 
Guida, for it is not quite the proper simile. 

GUIDA. Gracious! I had forgotten that I was out with my school- 
master, who promised to learn me to be very lady-like. 

DALTON. I promised to teach you, Miss (iuida; it is you who 
learn, I who teach. 



SAWDUST AND SPANGLES. Si 

1.1 U I DA. Yes, I lememher, you have told me that before; but I 
can 'I see why it isn't just as proper to say that you are learning me, as 
t!iat you are teaching me. 

DALTON. The difference is, that the act of learning- 
GUI DA. Oh bother school when we are out in the woods. We have 
been among the dust of the circus grounds so long that this being out 
here is as pleasant as the April showers are to the May flowers. I feel so 
much like my old self to-day, that I don't even want to be reminded that 
I'm not living the old life, which was happy after all; except that I would 
like to go back to the old home just once with these clothes on, and my 
very great knowledge of grammar, just to show them there what I could 
do when T had a chance to improve. But now you stand up there, and 
keep the snakes away, while you tell me what made you come with the 
circus. You told me that you wrote books, and I should think that that 
would be ever so much nicer than travelling with a pokey old show. 
DALTOX. I told you that I wanted to write books; I am a journalist. 

GUIDA. Oh, yes, I remember; a journalist is a man who writes for 
the newspapers. But don't they ever have anything else to live on except 
beer ? 

DALTON. Why of course they do. What put such an idea as that 
into your head ? 

GUIDA. Well, I've noticed that whenever you bring any of them 
to the show, you take them right into the property room where the beer 
keg is, and that j'ou never see anything of the performance in the ring. 

DALTON. I am obliged, of course, to show them a proper amount 
of courtesy. 

GUIDA. Is that what you call beer? 

DALTON. Oh bother that. Miss Guida. Please talk about some- 
thing else, for you don't quite understand the customs among the profes- 
sion. You see I only do that which it is absolutely necessary I should do, 



;l- SAWDUST AMI SPANGLES. 

and I'm not sure you would see it in exactly the proper Hght if I should 
attempt to explain. So just consider it as one of my duties — a very disa- 
greeable and arduous one,— and let it go at that. 

GUIDA. Well, tell me why all journalists don't have papers of their 
own, instead of writing for somd)ody else, or travelling around with 
circuses, and shows of that kind '! 

DALTON. They do try tn run one at some time in their lives, I 
guess. 1 know I did. 

GUIDA, Did you really? Tell me all about it. 

DALTnN. There isn't much to tell. I knew a fellow once who 
wanted to own a newspnpe'. <o he sold out his bar, and I went out West 
with him. We started the Daily Tomahawk in a mlnin;^ camp; had forty- 
one suliscribers — three that had paid like litile men, and the other thirty- 
eight that had promised to settle in the same manly fas'iion — as well as 
five columns of ads. that v.e lad c( pied from the Kastern papers. Of 
course we didn't get any pay for the space; but it looked more like busi- 
ness to have the ads. there. I did try to get some local advertising; but 
the saloons changed hands so oucn th it I could never catch a pn;prietor 
who was in a condition to m;ike a contract. We had been running about 
a month, when some of the boys stiirted a big game of draw in the camp 
that lasted nearly a week. You can't think what hard work it is to run a 
daily paper and play poker at the sir.-.e time. After we'd struck off the 
same edition three days in succession without < hang'ng any thi"g but the 
date, the people got dissatisfied — that is to say, those who owed for their 
subscriptions kicked because we hadn't more variety The three who had 
paid didn't express the least dissatisfaction; but then you see they were iti 
the game, and didn't have time to notice the familiar appearance of the 
the news. We got broke on the game, and after that the newspaper bus- 
iness seemed to languish. It — it — well. Joe went back to tending bar, and 
I came East; but I was nearly three months getting here, although I was 
headed toward the rising sun all the time. Then the < ireat and Only 



SAWDUST AND SrANGLES. 33 

wanted a press-agent, I hadn't a nickel, so I was glad of the job. 

GUIDA. But why didn't you stop playing draw, as you call it, 
and attend to the newspaper? 

D ALTON. Oh, you see — well, the fact is that it wouldn't be of any 
use to explain, for you don't quite understand all the customs among the 
the profession. Teach me that song you were singing yesterday. Is this 
the tune? [Whistles one. bar of Guida's somj.) 

GUIDA. No, not e.v'actly. I suppose I must sing it since you were 
to be the school-teacher, and I the singing mistress. This is it. [Sin<iS.) 

Love is like the mountains bold. 

Old as they, and yet so new 
That when to maiden it is told 
Hy some lover fond and true. 
The maiden thinks. 
As knowledge sinks 
Into her heart, how sweet is love. 
She bends her head love's words to hear, 
And soft and low are those words so dear. 

Love is like the sea so blue; 

Storms and rain disturb its waves; 
But as our lives, it follows through. 
From our cradles to our graves. 
We all must know 
That it will go 
Straight from this to the life above. 
And soft and sweet will, to our ear 
Sound that call of love we all shall hear. 

GUIDA. Now can you .sing it? 

DALTON. I had much rather talk of the sentiment expressed in the 
words, tliaii to make an attempt in which I am certain I should fail. Do 



a4 



SAWnUST ASD SPANijr.f.: 



you know, Miss Giiida, how much different my lite lias been Urtce you 
have been with the show ! (^an you fancy what it iiUiciit h^ to a man who 
is leading this sort of a life to meet one like you ? ICverythinj; has seemed 
different since you have been here, and you can ne\er know how happy 
I am when with you, and how lonely when you are out of sight — 

GUIDA. {Quickly.] Mr. Dalton, you may talk lo J)oakey about the 
sentiment, as you call it; but f didn't come out lierc to listen to anything 
of the kind. Aren't you ash .med to think of aiiythiuj^ l)nt the music? 

DALTON. I can never be ashamed of anything in which you are 
concerned. 

GUIDA. If you think that, come into the ring tliis uoo.i, and see 
me trying to ride according to Mr. Fitzwilson's ideas. Then you'll know 
what it is to be ashamed of me. 

DALTON. That I never shall. In you I can see only a lovely girl 
of whom I have learned to think very dearly, and I am sure that even 
your blunders miist be charming. 

GUIDA. How m.iny times have I told yon that you must keep your 
compliments for Donkey? If you persist in making them I shall never let 
you walk with me again. 

DALTON. Guida, will you not let me tell j-ou how dear you are to 
meV Will you— [Eu'er GOI.DRUIU; and FITZ WILSON L 2 

E ) The plague take them, here is the manager and his shadow ! 

GOLD. {Ci-(i,vflng to Giiidn.) Ha, ha, here is our pupil. I knew 
that I could not have been mistaken in that voice. Now, my child, sup- 
pose you sing that song for ua, instead of letting I.>alton have all the ben- 
efit of it'.' 

I )ALTON and FITZ talk in dumb show JR. 

GUIDA. This is one of the days when I can't sing to order. I am 
out here where everything is free, without the odor of the sawdust, or the 
glitter of the spangles, and I am, or was, bef^^re you came, feelins; as free 



SA>VDUST AND SPANGLES. 35 

as the bird-;. 

GOLD. Well, child, you shall sing or not, as you choose; but how 
are you getting on with the riding lessons ? 

GUIDA. I am not getting on at all; I can't manage the horse, I 
can't manage the long skirts, and I am sure that Mr. Fitzwilson can't 
manage me. 

FITZ. [Cimxing Jonrard.) Indeed I can, Miss Guida; you are as 
tractable a pupil as one rould ask for, except when you get discouraged. 

GUIDA. [Laitghincr-] And that is very nearly all the time, isn't it? 

FITZ. No indeed; you are getting along so fast that we shall make a 
famous equestriene of you in a few days more. But don't forget that we 
are to have another lesson in an hour. {Talks in dumb show to Guida.) 

GOLD. [To Dalton.] Have you been to all the newspaper offices 
this morning, Mr. Dalton ? 

DALTON. Yes, sir. I believe my work is all done, or I shouldn't 
have been here. 

GOLD. Then there is nothing more you can do to forward the in- 
terests of the Great and Only, eh ? 

DALTON. I can think of nothing, sir. 

GOLD. Then allow me to suggest that you remain where your 
journalistic friends may find you if they chance to call. If I was the press- 
agent of such a show as the Great and Only, I should consider it my duty 
to be always on the look-out for a chance to get a good notice. 

DALTON. I will do as you suggest, sir; but allow me to remark 
that I believe I have already done my work properly. [Mows tmvard 
R 1 E. 

GUIDA. ]Mr. Dalton, where are you going? 

DAI..TON. To the tent for awhile, in order to show that I am hired 
by another, and that no portion of my time belongs to myself. 



36 SAWDUST AND SPANGLES. 

Enter BROWN L 3 E, he crosses to R 3 E, ond 
stands half hidden by the trees, listeniny. 

GUIDA. Oh, is that all? Well, it won't take you long to do that, 
and I shall wait here for you to escort me back to the lent. Remember 
tiiat Mr. Fitzwilson is to give me a lesson in an hour. 

DAIjTON. I will come for you. 

Erit DALTON L r E. 

GOLD. But there is no reason why he should come back here, child; 
we will both walk to the tent with you, and it is necessary that he should 
attend to his work. 

GUIDA. 1 am sure that he has already attended to it, and it is nec- 
essary that he should do as I wish. Besides, I came out here with him, 
and I don't intend to go back with any one else. 

Enter ALBERTI hurriedly L 2 E. 

ALBERTI. [To Goldbvrg.] Faith now an I'm through. I'm not 
able to stand it any longer. 

FITZ. What is the matter with our Tri.ih- American now? 

ALBERTL Its that ould woman; she chases me from one end of the 
town to the other till the flesh is worn off of me frame entirely, wid tryin* 
to get rid of her, bad luck to the bag of bones that she is ! 

GUIDA. Signor Albcrti, is it my Doakey that you arc talking of in 
that disrespectful manner? 

ALBERTI. Faith an it is, jMiss Guida. I'm worn out wid her 
entirely. 

GUIDA. Do you remember what you promised me yesterday? 

ALBERTI. May the saints forgive mc, I do. Whin I look int.) your 
purty face I'll promise anything; but whin I meet the ould — I mane Miss 
Doak, I'd forget me own mother, for she's worse'n the livin' skeleton in 
the side-show, to look at, an' the divil himself couldn't get rid of her. Its 



SAWDUST AND SPANGLES. 37 

hut fiV J mi iiius gone >ir.ce .she nl^hf d up to rre wid her two long arm«, 
an* faith I think she'd choked the life out of me ef I hadn't escaped in 
time. She scramed and hugged, tellin' of me that she would have died 
if I had, — as if I'd been thinkin' of cuttin' my own throat, — till she had 
such a crowd around as would make you think 1 was givin' a free show, 
an' all of them laughin' as they niver laughed at Mr. Fitzwilson's jokes. 
I'll put up wid many a trouble while I'm wid the show; but I'll not stand 
it to have that ould — 1 mane Miss l)oak, doin' a trapeze act on me neck. 

GUIDA. [Ldtn/iiiii:/.) Why she was afraid you had hurt yourself 
running after a gun to kill the snakes with, and I suppose the joy of see- 
ing you safe and alive, almost overcame her. 

ALBERT I. Faith an' it entirely overcame me. 

GOLD. What is that about snakes'.' 

ALBERTI. its only a bit of a joke I've bin after havin' wid the 
young leddy. 

GL'IDA. It w;is a wicked, horrible wrong storj- he told poor, old 
Doakey, and I'm certain he'll be punished for it. 

ALBERTI. Sure, Miss Guida, an' its punished I've been already, 
for the ould reptile — 

•iUIDA. Signor Alberti ! 

.\LBEKTI. The ould woman, I mane, has squeezed the breath en- 
tirely out of me body, an* that in the face av iverybody around the show. 

GULD. Well, v/ell, man, what is it you want? 

ALBERTI. Its pertection for me life I'm after. Either the ould 
woman must lave the show, or I'll go no farther. I'll swaller a sword, or 
tois a cannon-ball wid any man livin'; but I'll not stay here for that ould 
— Miss Doak, I mane, to practise wid. 

GOLD. Well, come back to the tent with me, and we'll see if we 
can't make some arrangement with Miss Doak, whereby she will agree to 
leMv: \.)ii nlone. You are too tender to be treated in this way. 



33 SAWDUST AN1» SPANGLES. 

ALBERTI. Its the honor of the perfession I'm bound to uphold, 
an' by that same token I'll not be clasped in the embrace of ivery ould 
maniac — 

GUIDA. Signer Alberti ! 

ALBERTI. Of ivery ould woman who comes along. 

GOLD. (GfHnff L.) Come, then, and we will see what can be done. 
Will you come too, Fitz ''. 

FITZ. Yes, unless Miss Ouida wants me lo stay with her until Dal- 
ton comes back. 

GUIDA. {LaUifhuKj.) Indeed I don't. I want to be left strictly 
alone, and when the time comes I will be ready to take my lesson. 

GOLD. Very well then; I'm ready to right all your wrongs, Mickey, 
and to see that the kiss of peace is exchanged between you and Miss 
Doak. 

ALBERTI. May the saints forbid ! 

GOLD. Don't stay out here too long, Miss Guidn, for, without 
knowing why, I never feel exactly safe about you when yoi; are away 
from the tent. 

GUIDA. [Ldiif/hiiif/.] Well it does seem funny that anybody 
should worry about me; I've taken tare of myself so long that I guess I 
can continue to dt> so, 

ALBERTI. Her fece'U purtect her ivery time, bless her swate heart. 

Kfit OOLDBUUG. FITZ WILSON, and ALBEKTI, /. 2 E. 

GUIDA. Poor Signor Alb«rti t l»c's s;idly afflicted with Doakey, and 
I'm afraid he'll tw>t be fre« from: her while they both stay with the show. 

BROWN. ( Up stutje.) Now is my time T Dalton won't be back for 
half an hour at least, and if any one else should come I'll try the plan 
SaHy suggested— tkat cant faiL 

GUIDA. I believe I*m growing to like this kind of a life more and 



^ AWUUSr AND SPANGLES. -9 

more ea<;h tiny. F.ver}- one, except Mile. Rosa, is so kind to me. Mr. 
Fitzwilson cert;iinly is very patient when I am taking my lessons, and if 
Mr. Palton is as persevering in teaching me as he has been, I shall soon 
know how to talk and act quite like a lady. If the people at home could 
see Doakey and me now, I wonder what they would say? 

BROWN. {Up sfagc.) If I have to try Sally's plan in the end, it 
won't do to be too rough nb ut it in the begining, so I s'pose I'd better 
strike it about half-way between. [Cimirs dotrn .stage tmrord Ouida.] 

GUIDA. [liisinii.] I wonder if I'll always stay with the circus 
after I do learn to ride ? I certainly would be sorry to leave now while 
every one is so kind to me; its the nearest like a home I ever knew. 
Brown neizcs her frmn behind by the arm, Ouida screanu. 

BROWN. Stop that yelling, or I'll give you something to yell for. 
Come along with me. [l\ieff to dra<j her up stage.] 

GUIDA. (.Syr>//7;/'i»6r.) Who are you? Let go my arm ! Why, do 
you know I'll .scratch your eyes out if you don't let me alone ! 

BROWN. [Seizing her by both arm.'i.) Indeed yott won't do any 
thing of the kind. Come along with me quietly, or it will be the worse 
for you ! 

GUIDA. [Struggling.] You villain! Help! Help! Oh how I would 
like 10 strike you ! Help ! Help ! 

BROWN. [PnUing her back.] Hold your tongue, curse you, or 
I'll stop your mouth for you ! 
GU.DA. Help! Help! 

Broun covers her mouth with his fiandy pulling her 

to h^r knees. Enter DALTON hurriedly L 2 E. 

DALTON. Unhand that lady, or I'll— 

Brotvn pidls a revolver, and points it at Dalton, ivho 

steps back. Guida remains an her knees between the 

two, Brtywn holding her by the shoulder tvith one hand. 



40 SavVDXJST A.NJ) SPA.NGLKS. 

BROWN. It will be exceedingly inconvenient for you to come any 
nearer; this little toy might go off. 

DALTON. Unhand that lady, or it shall be the worsn for yon. 

BROWN. It shall, eh '! Hasn't a father ynt a rijht I" lake his own 
child away ? 

DALTON. What's that? 

BROWN. This girl is my daii-hicr. 

GUIDA. [fipringiiiff .o ln'r jccf.] Oh no ! no! not ihat! not that i 

BROWN. But it is just that, Miss. I'm your father, and you shall 
come with me. 

GUIDA. ( With jUtstvcfchcO JiOnds.) Don't say you are my 
father ! 

BROWN. But I do say it, and its the truth, so now come with me, 
and if this young man wants to interfere, we'll make it warm for him. 

GUIDA. {Stands for an instant silent h/ looking at. Bmirn.' 
My God help me! [Falls.] 

CURTAIN. 



PICTURE: GUIDA at C i.-. s»vooi,. BROWN upstage R point- 
ing revolver at DALTON with one hand, and off stage with the other. 
DALTON down stage L lof^king at GUIDA. 



NOTES. 
GUIDA in this act must be considerably changed in maimer; hav- 
ing been for four weeks under the tuition of all the company, more es- 
pecially Dalton, and making new acquaintances, it would not be slranj/e, 



; .v\v:)rsT and spangles. 41 

if, iiaiur.-illy intelligent as she is, she should have shown many evidences 
of litr training. Yet she would, even then, evince a decided disinclination 
to iovc-!Tiaking, since, owing to her previously lonely life, her natural 
modesty would readily take that form. It is also quite natural that she 
should swoon; the terror at finding herself, as she supposes, the daughter 
of Brown would be sufficient to deprive her of her senses. Almost any 
lattitvide may be allowed in the matter of costume, since she would natur- 
ally desire it, and the manager be quite as willing to give it, since he ex- 
pects to reap a rich harvest through her, to say nothing of his desire to 
have members of his company well dressed. 

MATILDA should take especial pains not to burlesque the scene; 
if one conscientiously acts it the part will be more comical than any bur- 
lesque could make it. 

BROWN should avoid being any more rough than is absolutely 
necessarj'; even one with professions of gentlemanly breeding might do 
exactly as he is doing. He should be a ruffian, but not ruffianly. 



42 SAWDUST AI^D SPANGLES, 



APPEARING IN ACT 8. 

GUIDA. 

MATILDA. 

MLLE. ROSA. 

FITZWILSON, 

DALTON. 

BROWN. 

ALBERT!, 



SAWDUST AND SPANGLES. 



ACT THIRD 

Interior of women's dressing-tent in a circus. 



To be of plain canvas, entirely enclosing the stage, with but one en- 
trance, and that at L 2 E. Standing mirrors, trunks, costumes, saddle 
cloths, etc., Ktrewn around. 



PROPERTIES IN ACT THIRD. 

Standing mirrors, trunks, clothes, saddle-cloths etc., for dressing-room. 



COSTUMES IN ACT THIRD. 

GUIDA. Long riding habit. 

MATILDA. Grotesque, low-necked, and short-sleeved dress, the 
skirt coming just above the tops of her boots. Hat with long plume. 

ALL OTHERS. Ordinary street dress; may wear same as in the 
last act 



<Hr AND SrA.NGi.KS. 



ACT 3. 

Diip hour hriH elapned since the chhsr of .■^rcoiid (tcf. 
SCENE: Interior of women's dressing-tent in a circus. 

He/ore ramnrf the curtain the Pnnnpter calls: 
Walk this way, ladies and gents, and see the many wonders contained 
under this canvas, thp.t cnn be viewed for the small sum of one dime, or 
five tickets for half a dollar. Tt will he two hours before the doors of the 
big tent are opened, and, in the meanwhile you can see all the wonders 
of the universe for only one dime. Here are annacondas, boa constric- 
tors, birds, animals, and freaks of nature in all forms, and from all 
climes, while ten cents pays the price of admission. Walk this way and 
be amused, instructed, and delighted before the big show opens. 

The curtain in rained fust be/ore the conclnaiwi of speech. 

DISCOVERED. 

MATILDA standinrj before mirror, pouderbuj her face. 

MATILDA. Now that Guida has found her father, ( suppose I must 
take my place as the principal attraction of the show, and I am sure that 
1 shall have but little difficulty in putting Mile. Rosa in the sliade, al- 
though I'm not just sure that I shall dare to attempt to ride six horses kt 
one time, as dear Signor Alberti suggests. %. wonder what he meant when 
he said it would be rather hard on the horses? I'm sure I'm not very 
heavy. But perhaps he was only in sport; he is so foud of joking, the 
dear man. > 

FITZ. (O/ stage.) M;iy I come in".' 



;/.\VDUST AND SPANGLES. 45 

•MATILDA. Mercy on me! Who is it? Wait a minute. [Poll- 
ders fuiiously ] 

FITZ. (0/ stage.) Its Fitzwilson. Is Miss Guida there? 

MATILDA. { Wiping her face quickly, and sitting on trunk.) 
Ah, yes, come right in, my dear Mr. Fitzwilson. [Enter FITZWILSON 
L 2 J'J,) Since you are to give me a riding lesson, I may as well allow 
}ou to see the quiet costume that 1 have selected; but my maidenly mod- 
esty forbade that I should display it to the vulgar herd, at least, until I 
had become somewhat accustomed to it myself. Is it becoming? {iStatuts 
up, and turns sloivly around be/ore Fitzwilson.) 

FITZ. But my dcai madam, alter what has just occuned, we can- 
not even think of lessons to-day. 

MATILDA. Why not? 

FITZ. Are you not aware that this scoundrel Brown, who ought to 
have been hanged years ago, claims Miss Guida as his daughter, and 
has got his story down so fine that I am afraid any court of law would 
recognize his so-called rights? 

MATILDA. Yes, I know that; but Guida said she should take her 
lesson to-day, even if she was obliged to leave the show immediately af- 
terwards. But seriously, Mr. Fitzwilson, [Goes very close to Fitz,) I 
have been thinking this matter over, and if Guida is this man's daughter, 
as I now believe she is, why need either you or Mr. Goldburg feel badly 
about it? 

FlT.i. And why should we not feel badly about it? She would 
make one of the most brilliant, dashing equestrienes in the countrj'. I 
never saw one learn as rapidly, or sit a horse more gracefully than she. 

MATILDA. Not even excepting me, Mr. Fitzwilson? If Guida 
should be compelled to leave the show, am I not here? 

FITZ. There is no question but that you are here. 

MATILDA. And could I not take Guida's place as a pupil? 



46 Sawdust a^d spang lk:-;. 

FiTZ. I could hirdly say that, madam, until .xftcr I liave seen yon 
in tile ring as I have seen Miss Guida. 

MATILDA. [With her hand on Fifzvifsnn's xhoiiidr)'.) Mv 
dear Mr. Fitzwilson, you sl)all see me there, and then you shall say thrtt 
never had teacher a pupi! more docile, — [/^/j'f/' ALIiEIlTI L j K] — 
if you can overlook the natural exuberance of youth, 

FITZ. Hang it ! madam, don't talk shop when that young lady is in 
such peril. Can you not fiincy what it might he. to be da'mcd as a daugh- 
ter by such a man as Hrown, and be forced to live his life? 

M ATIIiDA. I can't s.^f^ that h/s such a bad looking man. 

FITZ. T wasn't talking about hii looks, but his character. 

MATILDA, {(to'uu/ Io thr mirr'tr, and arrancjiaij hfr toilet.) 
Oh, I don't know anything .ibout that, of course. I was only speaking 
about his personal appearance. 

ALBERT!. [Aside.] Well, may the saints presarve us: but jist hear 
that ould catamaran go it ! Kedad, but I begin to think she believes she's 
less than fifty. [To Fitzvilfton.] Mr. Fitzwilson, its mesclf that's come 
to ask you if you think it would ease Miss Guida's heart any if I should 
polish ofT that blackguard Drown? I could do it v/ith that same skill an' 
grace that characterizes me performances in the ring. 

FITZ. No, no, Mickey; it isn't by force that we can hope to extricate 
her from her difhculties. Blows are not the arguments we must use. 

ALBERTI. Bedad, but they're the only argymints that rapscallion 
can understand, bad luck to his dirty self! 

Enter GUIDA L 2 E dejectedly. 

FITZ. I hardly e.vpected to see you here. Miss Guid;i. I thought 
yott would remain at the hotel until we could advise with you as to what 
you should do. 

GUIDA. [Seatinfi hriwl/ uearilji on a trunk.] I have cotne for 
my lesson, Mr. Fitzwilson. I said I would conic, and I am here. 



SAAVDUST AND SPANGLES. 47 

ALHERTI. [Aside.] Jest lool: at the mavourneen I Begorra, but 
it would serve that divil of a Hnnvn well right to have that ould maniac, 
Miss Deal:, disrover abor.t this lime that he was her father. Faith an' I 
think he'd he willin' to come to terms then, the blackguard! 

JMATIljDA. But where is your father, my dear? 

FITZ. Hush ! Do not profane the name. 

I\f ATIIjDA, IJut if he is her father why shouldn't he be spoken of? 
I'm sure if I had met my father, whom I had never seen, and how ro- 
mantic it would be, I should want to hear people talking of him. 

ALBERTI. [Aside.] In the name of heavin, will that ould reptile 
niver discover herself? {Aside to FitzwiJso7}.) Will I be after kapin' 
that famale ape hushed while you have a chance to talk wid Guida ma- 
vourneen ? 

FITZ. You mean well, Mickey; but you must be careful not to raise 
a row of any kind, for Miss Guida's sake. 

ALBERTI. Bedad I can be quiet enough; but may the divil fly 
away wid me ef I can see how that can help the young leddy. 

GUIDA. Mr. Fitzwilson, are you ready to go into the ring? 

FIT^. Don't think of lessons to-day; but rather decide upon what 
it is best to do under the circumstances. Shall you acknowledge this 
man's claim upon you without making any protest? 

GUIDA. What else can I do? 

MATILDA. Sure enough, what else can she do ? Her duty is to 
do what he tells her, and, even at the risk of being misunderstood, I shall 
insist that she obeys him. 

ALBERTI. [Aside,) Begorra, but I'd like to have the straightenin' 
out of that ould corkscrew I 

FITZ. You can oblige him to prove that he is your father before 
you leave us. 



y: Sawdust a.nd spa.sgles. 

GUIDA. To do that would be to provoke him to tell my mother's 
story, as he threatens to do, and to that I would never consent, however 
hard might be the conditions he imposed upon me. A child could never 
allow her mother's memory to be defiled, if any act of hers could prevent 
it, and, although I never saw my luotlier, Mr. Kitzwilson, I revere her 
memory. 

FITZ. But are you sure he is your father .' 

MATILDA. Why of cour.ie she has got to tike his word for that, 
and I claim that she's Ijound to Ijelieve him, for if he wasn't her father he 
wouldn't have any interest in saying that he was. 

ALBERTI. {Aside.) That ould woman wants to get rid of Miss 
Guida, I do belave, an' ef I was certain av it, I'd make things around 
here mighty hot for the ould reptile. 

GUIDA. I have heard that the heart of a child always responds to 
the voice of its parents; but it is not so in this case. What rea on have I 
for believing that he is not whom he says he is? Why would he cl.aim 
me as his daughter if such was not the case? 

MATILDA, Yes, that is it. That is just what I told her before I 
left the hotel. 

ALBERTI. lAsifl' ] He orght to cl lim you for his gr.u.dm nher, 
an' thin you wouldn't be so fn-j wid your tongue, you ouM telephone ! 

FITZ. He may have reasons that we do not know of. He certainly 
has one, if he is not your father, that I can understand. 

GUIDA. What is it? What is it? Show me one reason why he 
would claim me, not being my father, for my whole soul revolts against 
the man, and yet if he is really whom he says he is, I will obey him read- 
ily, despite all my ave sion to him. 

FITZ. In the first place, you have a certain commercial value which 
he can realize on. That you will make a good rider is positive, and he 
can get for your services a salary, from almost any circus, such as would 



SAWDUST AN J J SPANGLES. 49 

support him in idleness. 

GUIDA. But he surely would not trade on that. 

MATILDA. Of course not. He is your father sure enough, Guida, 
and I can only repeat what i have said before, that I will do all I can to 
fill your place here after you are away. 

ALBERTI. (Aside.) Bad luck to the ould reptile ! Ef I thought 
there was a horse in the show mane enough to let that bag of bones ride 
l.im, may the divil fly away wid me ef I wouldn't kill him. 

FITZ. I do not believe that your father would do so; but that Tom 
IJrown will, I am certain. 

GUIDA sifs dmvn in deep thought. 
Enter DAI.TON L 2 E. 

Vl'iZ. [Aside to Dalton.] Well, lad, what luck ? 

1 >ALTOX. Nothing as yet. My advice is that Miss Guida appeal 
to the law; make this man prove his claims before she does as he com- 
mands. 

AIjBERTI. Its now that you're talkin' sinse, lad. 

DALToN. [7'o Guida.] Miss Guida, you cannot believe that this 
man is your father. 

GUIDA. How can I say? He tells me that he is, and to question 
him before a court of law is, I fear, to make public that which the world 
must not know. 

DALTON. But, without going into the details, [Enter BROWN 
L 2 E.] make him show, as it is but right you should do, that he really 
has this claim he pretends to have. 

BROWN. The claim he pretends to have, eh ? Well let me tell you, 
Mr. Smarty Freshfield, that he can prove all he claims, and a good deal 
more, if Miss Impudence here insists on it. I say that I'm this girl's fath- 
er, and if she wants me to, I can tell the whole story, though it won't be 



50 SAWDUST AM> .^I'AN^iLKr.. 

ver^' pleasant for her to bear, especially when I go into all the details. 

ALBERTI. That's the boss divil himself, an' I'd p\it np wid onid 
Miss Doak's runnin' after me for a week, jist to have onf rap at his nsily 
head. 

DALTON. Have you told her yet ? 

BROWN. No; but I'll tell the whole world if she insists on know- 
ing. I am her father, and if she won't i^o with me willingly, I can appeal 
to the law; I guess there will be but litUe difficulty in taking her av,.-iy 
from a circus, where I'm not willing she should stay. 

FITZ. See here, IJnnvn, I know you pretty well, and I know that 
you have no scruples against a woman's being with the circus, or else 
you would take your wife away. Now tell us what you want. 

BROWN. Want? Why I want my daughter, of course. 

FITZ. But how much money do you want? That is the only ques- 
tion with you, and it is foolish to talk about scruples. Why man, you've 
got the heart to do most anything, if you could make a dollar by it. 

BROWN. Vv'ell, I slian't make any money out of her with this 
show, for I wouldn't let her stay a day longer. She's got to conie with 
me, and if she won't do so willingly, why then I'll see what the law can 
do. 

JM.VriLDA. I rc.dly don't think it is right, my dear Mr. Fitzwilson, 
to insist on his giving up his daughter when he has just found her. If it 
was going to be any loss to the circus, I wouldn't say anything about it; 
but I shall still be here, for he cannot take me away. 

FITZ. I wish to heaven he could, madam, and then we should not, 
be disturbed by your chatter at such a time. 

MATILDA. Merciful powers! The base ingratitude of man ! 

ALBERTI. {Aside lo Dalian.) Lad, its my opinion that it wmdd 
be a pood deed if we cleared oukl Miss Doak an' IJrown both ^ut of the 
the show, an' cf you'll but give ihe wonl I'll \«i oi'.Iy l(>o wlI! \A\.:cd t.j 



: AWDUST AND SPANGLES. 51 

do the work. 

I).-\LTON. No, no, Mickey, you mustn't think of anything of the 
kind. 

ALBERTI. Faith, but how can I help thinkin' of it, lad, whin I 
hear the two of thim talking? 

Enter ROSA L 2 E. 

FITZ, Mile. Rosa, you probably know what your husband claims. 
Do you insist that Miss (jruida is your daughter? 

K< )SA. Indeed I Qon't; I am an honest woman. If my husband is 
really the father of this girl, and I have heard the storj' before, then he 
must take her from here, for I'll not have such as she around. 

GUI DA. Woman ! 

ROSA. Oh don't try any tragedy airs with me. Miss, for I'll have 
none of ihem. I know as well as Tom Brown does, that you are his 
daughter, and I say that there shall be no such trash around. You shall 
go wi.h him to-day, for you're no better than your mother was before 
you. 

GUIDA. Silence ! You shall not speak of my mother in that way ! 
If she loved the man who calls himself my father and your husband, she 
was sinned against rather than sinning. Whatever her faults may have 
been, I will hear no one speak evil of her. A man holds the name of 
mother sacred before a child, if for no other reason than that his own 
mother is of the same sex. A woman should not speak evil to a child of 
that nearest, dearest relative, and if you forget that you too are a woman, 
some one should remind you that, at least, you have that semblance. 
Leave me. It is enough that I am obliged to stand face to face with a 
father of whom I am ashamed for my mother's sake; I will not allow his 
wife to taunt me. 

AIjBERTI. [Aside to Dalton.] Its no use, lad, I'll not be respon- 
sible for the play of me two fists if Miss Guida mavourneen, is to he 
ballyragged like this. 



-• SAWDUST AND SPANGJ.ES. 

DALTON. For heaven's sake, Mickey, be qui;", or you'll make no 
end of trouble. 

ALBEKTI. Faith, lad, an' that's jist what I'm after wantin' to do. 

FITZ. [7'o Rosa.} The girl is right; this is no placo for you. 

R<3SA. And who will prevent me from st.-ying here? Surely 1 have 
the right to stay where my husband and his child are. 

DALTON. I will prevent yon if no one else will; you shall not re- 
main here to make her trouble greater, for God knows ii is as mucii now 
as she can bear. 

ROSA. Then you would force me to leave my own dressing-room, 
would you ? 

FITZ. We certainly shall, madam, unless you have sufficient good 
sense to show you that this is no place for you. 

BROWN. Go out, Sally, and let the duffers have their way for 
awhile. We have got too many against us just now to stand any chance 
of being treated fairly. 

DALTON. It makes no difference what reason you give for leav- 
ing, for we shall not bandy words with you. We simply insist that she 
shall go. 

ROSA. I will not oblige you to carry out your implied threat, gen- 
tlemen, for it might cause you some shame to remember that two of you 
used force against one woman. I will go, and so shall she, before night, 
for even if I was not with this show, she should not remain here. 
EH' ROSA L 2 E. 

FITZ. Now, Brown, tell us just what it is you propose to do ? 

BROWN. I have told you that already, and there is no use of re- 
peating it. 

ALBERT!. I kin tell you what he nades, an' I'll give it to him be- 
fore he's many hours older, or me name's not Mic'tey — ' mane Sigtio^r 



SAWDUST AND SPANGLES. 53 

Alberty. 

DALTON. What salary will you accept and allow her to remain 
here? 

DROWN. You can't offer money enough, gentlemen. I will not 
allow my daughter to remain with a circus. 

GUIDA. Will you leave me alone with — with — this man? I must 
know all he has got to say, and then, perhaps, I shall be better able to 
decide what to do. 

FITZ. Do you think it is well for you to be with him alone? 

DALTON. Can you not trust us to hear, for, believe me, it is not 
safe for you to be left here with him. 

BROWN. You gentlemen seem to have taken a wonderful fancy to 
my girl. Go on, though, say all you want to, for this is your last chance; 
my turn will come next. 

GUIDA. [To Dalton.] I am not afnrid'orhim; I am only afraid he 
is whom he claims to be. Please leave me, and believe that I am doing 
right. 

MATILDA. I might have expressed my mind on this question if I 
had not been spoken so rudely to before. But perhaps you can get along 
without my advice. 

FITZ. We shall try to, madam. 

ALBERT!. Bedad but we could spare the whole of your body jist 
as handy as we kin your advice. 

Exit FITZWILSON and MATILDA L z E. 

DALTON. We will remain within call, in case you should want us. 

BROWN. You needn't fear that any violence will be used. The 
girl will do as I tell her, without any question. 

ALBERTL There's been altogether too much talk, an' too little 
done in this confabulation, accordin' to my way of thinking. In the 



r;j SAWDUST AM) SPANGIJ'.S. 

oulcl country a spalpeen like you, Tom Hrown, would have li.id his he.ul 
cracked before two Irishmen could whoop once; I'll see you aftcrwnrcls, 
Mr. Brown, ef you make the young leddy any sorrow. 

During this spcrch DnUnn tn''.s to s'iU Xlbrrti. 
Exit ALBEHTI (ind DAI -TON /. ■?. K. 

GUIDA. Now give me some proof that y^iu are my f.ithcr. 

BROWN. I have told you so, and that i; enough. 

GUIDA. Hut if this woman is your wife, my mother could nut have 
been, and while I must bear the disgrace of her sin, you have no claims 
upon me. 

BROWN. Don't go quite so fast. I married your mother through 
pity, and she died in a few weeks after you were born, which was none 
too soon. 

GUIDA. And saj'ing these words you come to the daujrhter, believ- 
ing she will obey you when you tell her to follow you ? 

BROWN. Of course I do. If you don't go willingly, and I am 
obliged to appeal to the law, I shall tell many things which won't be par- 
ticularly agreeable for you to hear. 

GUIDA. Coward! 

BROWN. Go on; that shows filial affection, and, in fact I rather ex- 
pected it from a child of your mother's. 

Gi'IDA. And what claim have you on me, so far as filial aflfection 
goes? Without speaking of my mother's sad history, and it must have 
been sad if you had any part in it, what claim have you on me '.' Perhaps 
1 am your child; but did you ever show a father's affection for me? Did 
you ever do as much for me as even the brutes do for the-r young? No, 
you deserted me when I was but an infant; to the tender mercy of stran- 
j^iers you left the one whom all the laws of (iod or of man declare that 
yoti sh.ill protect, to live or die as she might. You left the child of the 
\\o»nai: who loved you, to st.irve to death, and now v luu strangeis ti.ac 



TAWDUST AND SPANGLES. 55 

been inore kind to her than her father, you come to claim fiilial affection. 
Do you think I could feel any love for you who broke my mother's 
heart? Do you think I will obey you who deserted me when I was a 
helpless babe ? Do you think I can look on you without loathing, when 
I remember what my mother must have suffered? 

P)RC)WN. Well now as a matter of fact, I don't care what you think 
of me. It doesn't interefere with my plans in the slightest. Whether I 
(lid anything for you or not when you was a kid, won't make the least 
difference now, for if I am obliged to go into court to prove that you are 
my daughter, I will tell mj' story in such a way that no one will blame 
me for having left you. 

GUlD.\. And you come to me to trade on the good name of my 
mother ! Vou bargain with me to spare the memory of the woman whom 
you should have shielded from an evil word even with your life. Shame 
upon you for a disgrace even to the name of man ! Whatever sin she may 
have committed, whatever faults she may have had, she must have expi- 
ated all ten-fold, in being obliged to look upon you as her husband. 

TROWN. [RriiHvii his hand as if to strike] Curse you ! Hold 
your tongue, or I'll make you sorry you ever saw me ! 

GUIDA. I nm sorry now, and still more sorry to know that you are 
my father, if indeed you are. But strike me if you will. Do you think 
I fear blows when my mother must have suffered many ? Strike me, you 
brave man who greets his daughter after long years of neglect with blows! 
Can it be that a coward like you is my father? No, no, I will not believe 
it ! My whole soul revolts at the thought. How much better I had never 
known what it was to be other than a foundling, for then I should at least 
have been spared the feeling of shame that comes over me when my lips 
try to form the word father, to be applied to you. 

BItOWX. Its precious little difference to me whether you call me 
father or not. I only know that you'll do as I tell you to, or there'll be 
trouble, and I say that you've got to come with me. 



35 SAWDUST AND SPANGLES. 

GUIDA. And now 1 say that 1 will not ! It cannot be that there 
is such a wrong in nature as that you are my father, and I refuse to be- 
lieve it. I will not recognise your authority. 

BROWN. Does that mean that you refuse to do as I tell you ? 

GUIDA. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes? 

BROWN. Then you are willing that I should tell the public all that 
your mother was ? 

GUIDA. [A.'side.] God help me ! what can I say? To defy him is 
to disgrace my mother's memory, and yet to go with him is a life of mis- 
ery such as I have never dreamed of, even in my greatest anguish. It 
may be that he fears to take the case into a court of law. God grant that 
it is so, and on that hope I will act. 

BROWN. Well, what is your answer ? 

GUIDA, I deny that you are my father, and if you can stand before 
the world defaming the memory of the woman who trusted in you, then, 
though all the courts in the land pronounced me your daughter, I would 
not believe it. Stand back, coward and villain that you are ! I repeat 
that you are not my father, and in saying it 1 am but defending my 
mother's good name. If she is looking down on me now she knows the 
motive that causes me even to seem to show disrespect to her memory, 
and she must approve of it. Whatever she may have been siie was my 
mother, and I defy you ! 

CURTAIN. 

PICTURE: GUIDA at C with upraised liaiid. BROWN near 
door at L 2 E as if about to leave the room. 

NOTES. 

GUIDA would naturally rise to a height of passion where the ideas 
would come to her, even though she has been brought up in comparative 



^ AWDUST AND SPANGLES. 57 

ignorance. Almost any outburst of anger would be natural under the 
circi:msiances. 

BROWN not having any just cause of anger, since the story he tells 
is false, is in a moody rather than an angry frame of mind. It is only 
nllowed that he should fly into a passion when Guida refers to him per- 
sonally, not as her father, and then it is but reasonable that the anger 
should speedily die out, since he realizes that he is standing in a false po- 
sition, ready to do her a most grevious injury. 

MLLE. ROSA should also refrain from displaying any more anger 
than sufficient to allow the audience to understand that she is using it as 
a cloak. Her strongest point is sarcasm. 



SAWDUST AND SPANGLES, 



APPEARING IN ACT 4 

GUIDA. 

MATILDA. 

MLLE. ROSA. 

GOLDBURG. 

DALTON. 

HARLOW. 

FITZWILSON. 

ALBERTL 

BROWN. 



k««««i«Ha 



SAWDUST AND SPANGLES. 

ACT FOURTH. 

Drawing-room in Judge Harlow's home. 



Center door. Table, on which are strewn papers, up stage at R. 
Sofa directly opposite. Chairs near R & L i E. 



PROPERTIES IN ACT FOURTH. 

Tables, chairs, sofa, writing materials, etc., for drawing-room. 



COSTUMES IN ACT FOURTH, 
ALL — save Judge Harlow— in walking costume. 



Co SAWOU.ST ANT/ SPANGLES. 



ACT 4. 

One hour hiia cla]>.sc(l .fi/iri' rhj.'.'' oj juar-'h nd. 
SCKNE; Drawing-room in Jndg^ H:i-lo\v'-- hon'ie. 

DISCOVERED. 

IIOSA and BROWN. 

Rosa in chair near L 2 E. Brown pacing t<j and fro. 

ROSA. It was more than foolish to agree to come here, Tom You 
ought to have had sense enough to keep clear of the law, at least. 

BROWN. But what could I do, Sally? We're in the scrape now, 
and we've got to go througli with it. I claimed the girl as my daughter^ 
as you had planned I should in case I was interrupted while trying to get 
her away, and then I couldn't pull her off bodily. Goldburg proposed 
that we come before this Judge Harlow, to have him give his opinion as 
to whether I had a valid claim. There is no doubt but that I can prove 
that I am the girl's father, because no one knows anything about her, 
and I went back to Soulhport, as you suggested, so that I've got the 
story down fine. 

ROSA. You ought to have been sure that there was no one around 
when you attempted to take her away. I always was afraid about going 
to law, and I believe we shall come to some harm here. 

BROWN. I couldn't have been more sure than I was when I did 
make the attempt. I heard the old man tell Dalton to go to the tents, and 
I heard him tell her he would not be back for an hour. She was alone in 
the woods, and there didn't seem to be a chance that he would dare to 
come back so soon, especially after Goldburg had shown that he was 
angry with him. 



SAWDUST AND SPANGLES. Ci 

ROSA. But he did come back. 

BROWN. Yes, curse him ! But after I was in for it, how could I 
refuse to make my claim good? Suppose I had kicked, and said that the 
girl should go with me then and there, of what use would it have been? 
Every man in the show would have taken her part, and then I should 
have been obliged to go to law in good earnest, if I waifged to get her. 

IIOSA. Are you sure that there is no one in Southport who knows 
anything about her parents? I'm afraid of that old fool — Miss Doak. 

BROWN. I am certain nobody knows anything about it, and we're 
as sure of carrying out our plan as if I had gotten hold of her in the 
woods. There is no one who knows whose child she is, except the man 
who left her there, and, even if he's alive, there is'nt much chance of his 
turning up just now. 

ROSA. Shall you start away as soon as it is decided ? 

BROWN. Yes, unless she kicks and says she won't go; then I may 
have to take a regular dose of the law. I shall represent that she is being 
trained to a life that I object to; play the sanctimonious dodge, and I fan- 
cy that we shall come out of it all right. 

KOSA. But are you sure that you can get an engagement with the 
other show ? > 

BROWN. Yes, I have attended to all that; they will make me an 
offer after they see what the girl can do. But my idea is that it would be 
better to let her stay right here. Goldburg will pay more for her than 
any one else will, and since you are so afraid of the law, here is a chance 
to get out of it entirely. 

ROSA. I tell you that I won't have her around; if I had been will- 
ing, do you suppose I would have taken all these chances? If you wasn't 
such a fool, Tom Brown, you could see that if she stays here I shall soon 
get my walking papers, and then where will you be? The girl can ride 
well now, and in two or three weeks, if she stays, she, not 1, will be the 
attraction. 



(.2 SAWDUST A.\D SPAX;;:.KS. 

DROWN. Very well, Sally, very well. I only sugsei^tcd it, and 
still stand ready to carry out the original plan. 

Enter DALTON C D. 

D ALTON, I was told that the Judge was here, 

BROWN. He told us to wait here for him; he had something else to. 
attend to first, f^nt it foolish to submit this question privately to this 
man, when we could have it settled finally in court? 

DALTON. As a spcci.-il favor. Judge Harlow consented to give his 
private opinion on the merits of the case in order that Miss Guida might 
be spared the publicity that would result if a regular trial was held, and 
we were in the court-room. 

ROSA. I had no idea she was so sensitive. When I first saw her I 
thought she was able to stand almost anything. 

DALTON. There are .wme things which any one would shudder at, 
and this threat to defame the dead in order to coerce the living, is one of 
them. Now see here, I have come to make you one more ofter of money. 
If you will sign an agreement to leave Miss Guida with the show, Mr. 
Goldburg will give you any reasonable salar>' for her services. 

HROWN. I've said before, an' I mean it, that 1 v.on't let her stay 
with the shou. 

DALTON. Yju had better think the matter over; it may not be to 
your advantage to refuse. 

BROWN. I suppose I have got a right to do as I want to with my 
own, and about my own. 

DALTON. Well, Mr. Brown, that I'm not so sure of. In fact, I 
came ahead of the others simply for the purpose of trying to convince 
you that you are wrong in your method of tre:<.ting this case. 

BROWN. Then you've wasted your time, young fellow, and the 
less you meddle with what is none of your business, the better it will be 
for you and all concerned. 



; AWDUST AND SPANGLES. 63 

DALTON. That is also a matter in which 1 differ with you. Sec 
here, Brown, I've got a bit of advice to give you, and it will be particu- 
larly to your advantage to remember it. I don't fancy the law would be 
very hard on you if you should cast reproach on the dead woman in the 
presence of her daughter; but if you do, I shall take the law in my own 
hands, and I give you my solemn promise that the punishment will not 
be light. 

BROWN. I don't scare worth a cent, and you had better save your 
breath, for 1 shall say and do just what I please. 

DALTON. Then be very careful that you don't please to say any- 
thing against Miss (Juida's mother, or I will give you such a flogging as 
you will find it hard to forget 

BROWN. I have heard of barking dogs who got the worst of a 
game of that kind. 

DALTOX. You will find to your cost that this is not one of those 
cases. Be careful what you say if you have any regard for your worth- 
less self. 

Enter ALBERTI C D. 

AIjBERTL Begorra, Dalton, it was that same thing that I came 
here to say; but be the powers, ef I was behindhand in sayin' it, I'll be 
beforehand in givin' that blackguard a smell of me fist ef he makes the 
young leddy any more sorrow. 

ROSA. It seems that instead of coming here to have a question of 
a father's authority over his daughter settled, we have simply come here 
to be threatened by bullies. 

DALTON. Madam, your respected husband has, unfortunately, but 
little idea of gentlemanly breeding, and if our method of teaching him 
seems harsh, you must remember that he would fail to understand if 
we spoke in any other way. 

ALBERTI. Thim same is my sintiments to a hair. 



(.4 SAWDUST ANJ'> SPAXGLKS 

liOSA. You are eminently fitted to teach others good bruediuii, for 
we are all most familiar with that in which we are most deticiont. 

ALBERTI. [Aside to Dalton.] I've been lettin' this thing go on 
so long widout breakin' that blackguard's head, that faith I'm almost be- 
ginin' to think that I've caught the Italian fever from me new name, an' 
have entirely forgot that I'm Irish, Now I'm after thinkiif' that the best 
way to dispose of thim two divils, an' to get Guida mavourneen oul of 
her trouble, wud be to polish 'em off before the jedge comes. I cud do 
it wid one hand behind me, an' ef you'll look out a bit for the ould wo- 
man, I'll begin the shindy. 

DALTON. [Aside to Alberti.] For heaven's sake, Mickey, don't 
even dream of such a thing ! Think of where we are, and remember 
that anything of the kind would do Mi>s Guida more harm than good. 
ALBERTI. Do you really think so, lad? 
DALTON. I am sure of it. 

ALBERTI. Then I'll be dumbasatish; but me hand's achin* to 
to have one crack at that divil. 

EtUer HARLOW CD. 
HARLOW. Are all the parties in the case here? 
ALBERTI. Tvery wan of thim yer honor, barrin' thim that are a 
short distance beyant; but they'll soon be here. 

ALBERTI stands down B. DALTON just above him. 

HARLOW sUs at table. 

Enter GUIDA, MATILDA, GOLD, aiid FITZ, C. D. 

GUIDA and MATILDA sit on sofa. GOLD stands 

near Ouida. FITZ directly behind Matilda. 

ALBERTI. [Aside to Dalfori.] Do you think, lad, if I should he 

after swallowin' a few of me longest swords for the sake of amusin' hi,s 

honor, he'd be any more likely to fix it all right for GiV'da mavouniccn '.' 



SAWDUST AND SPANGLES. 65 

I) ALTON. It wouldn't be the proper thing at all, Mickey. You 
must try to forget that you are a sword swallower, and be very dignified. 

ALBERTI. Bedade, if its a dignified contour his honor wants, I'll 
give it to him at wanst. [Goes well doun stage, where he sfands 
ill attitude of burlesque dignity, glmvering at Broicn and Rosa.] 

GOLD. The parties are all here, your honor, and there is no reason 
why the case should not be proceeded with at your pleasure. 

HARLOW. As I understand the matter, this is a case wherein 1 am 
acting, not in an official capacity; but rather to explain what the law may 
be in the premises. In fact, it is a meeting at which it is hoped that the 
differences between a father and a daughter may be settled without re- 
course to the law. Am I right ? 

GOLD. On hearing the case you will best understand wherein you 
are mistaken. 

HARLOW. Then we will proceed at once, with this proviso, which 
1 understand you all agree to, that I am here as a private citizen rather 
than as a judge. If the matter cannot be settled amicably, then we can 
treat it in a legal way; but I sincerely hope that it may not be necessary 
to drag such a case into a public court. Now what is the question? 

BROWN. This is what it is. That girl is my daughter, who is trav- 
elling with a circus, and I insist upon her leaving it. Its not the proper 
place for a girl of her age, although there is no necessity for me to make 
any excuse for taking my own child away from any place that I don't 
choose she should be in. I don't care whether this is a regular court or 
not; I have got rights as a father, and I propose to exercise them. 

HARLOW. Well, upon what ground is objection made to your ex- 
ercising the rights you undoubtedly have ? 

GUIDA. I question if he is my father; but if you should say, after 
you hear his story, that he has proven his claim, then I will obey him, al- 
though to be obliged to call him father, will be the greatest misfortune 
that can befall me. 



r.n SA\V'DU3I AND ;;PANGLES. 

HARLOW. I hardly understand how you can be in doubt as to 
whether he is whom he represents himself to be or not. 

MATILDA. My dear judge, let me explain. I may he able to 
make it more clear than Guida can, for, while I am not so very much 
older, I have had more experience in the world. 

Each time Mdiilda speaks she ^priwjs from Jwr seat, 
ami Fitzu-ilson, tries to Jnush her. 

ALBERTI. Sit down you ould -corkscrew ! 

Each time Alberfi sjyal'fi he x*arfs fwivariV, Dalloii 
putlJi him. bade, and tries to hiisfi 7iim. 

GUIDA. I have never seen my father. During all my life I have 
been an object of charity, until these good people gave me an opportun- 
ity to earn enough to support myself by riding in the circus, they first in- 
structing me in my duties. Now this man, who had no thought of his 
daughter in all these years,, conies and insists that I shall go with him. 
How,, or to what place, I know not. Am I bound to obey the commands 
of him who did not obey the commanc's of n.nture when he deserted a 
helpless infant? 

HARLOW. Is the lady with hiiii, your mother? 

GUIDA. Indeed, no. 

HARLOW {Poi/itiii'J to Jla'ihk-l.] Is tliis lady your mother? 

MATILDA. I her mother? Merciful her.vens ! Can't you see the 
imprint of youth so plain OB my. face that you can tell how impossible 
that would be ? 

ALBERTI. Chain her dowa! Begorra that's what I'd do ef I was 
tryin' to handle her. 

GUIDA, I have no mother. I am a poor girl without friends to aid 
me, save these here who give me the opportunity to travel with them. I 
know nothing about either of my parents, and, God help me, I have no 
me ins of disproving this man when he says ho is my father, save as my 



S.WVDUST AND SPANC.LES. (S; 

own heart tells me that he is h6t. 

HAKIjOW. What proof have you that this girl is your daughter? 

BROWN. WTien I left the young one, I didn't think of asking for 
a receipt so that I' might be identified. I say she is mine, and can tell all 
the particulars about leaving her with the parties who were to take care 
of her for me. " " ' i 

DALTOX. I can prove that since the young lady has been with the 
show, this man hafs been back to the town she caiiie'from, so there is no 
question but that he knows the whole story, since he went there to get it. 

AliBERTI. Will you hear that, Jedge? The lad is close after the 
thafe. ■ ; ; ; . 

HAKLOW. You question this man's paternity. What motive'could 
he have in encumbering himself with the girl if she was not his daughter? 

GOLD. He could make money out of her by hiring hpr to some 
other show. ;. 

BROWN. That's a lie. I have already refused several offers tt> al- 
low her to slay with your show; but I'll not have her with a circiis. 

AliBERTI. Yis, bad luck to the likes of your ugly face, you only 
refused for spite, ye divil ! , 

FITZ. He is now, or wants to be, connected with a circus himself. 
His wife is Mile. Rosa the bare-back rider with the Great and Only cir- 
cus, and he was never known before to have any scruples against the 
business. He only professes to have some now in order that he may take 
Miss Guida away from her friends. 

BROWN. Let the girl prove, if she can, that I am not her father, 
and that will settle the question. 

GUIDA. Whether the good God will permit that I shall ever be 
able to prove to the satisfaction of men,, that you are not what you claim 
to be, I do not know; but this my own heart tells me, that not one drop 
of your blood runs in my veins. However my mother may have been 



blinded by love, she could not hnve failed to see you as yon really- are; 
for a man so low as to use such threats to any woman as you have used to 
me, is so base that he could never hide his true nature. I repeat that ] 
am not your daughter, and ask, [Twnini/ to Harl'oir.] if, having such 
doubts, I am obliged to obey him ? 

BROWN. We didn't come here for all this talk. I am here for my 
rights, and am going to have thorn. 

GUIDA. [To IlarloJC.) I am threatened with the power of the law 
if I do not obey him. Ff)r fifteen years the strong arm of the law was 
never interposed in my behalf, and now shall it be used to punish a child 
for that which she has never been taught ? He has threatened 
that my mother's memory should be defamed if I asked what my rights 
were under the law ! He demands ihat I shall leave the only friends I 
ever had, to follow him! If he has had no affection for me in the past, 
who shall say he has any now ? Should the law oblige me to obey him, 
it would simply be obliging me to hold less sacred my mother's name. !t 
would be obliging me to leave the only semblance of a home 1 ever had, 
to follow one for whom J feel only loathing and contempt. Declare that 
man to be my father, and i'ou cause me to feel contempt even for myself, 
because his blood runs in my veins. 

DROWN. If you want to find out whether I am your father or not,, 
why don't you stop making so much talk? 

GUIDA. You say you left me at the house where I was first cared 
f)r? 

BROWN. Yes. 

GUIDA. At what time in the day did you leave me there? 

BROWN, It wasn't in the day; but about nine o'clock at night. 

MATILDA. Yes, that is so, for I remember— 1 mean, I have heard 
all about it. 

ALBERTI. Will somebody plase hould that ould woman's tongue 
for her? 



SAWDUST AND SPANGLES. 69 

GUIDA. How long ago was it? 

BROWN. Fifteen years ago on the twenty-third day of July. 
HARLOW. (fc'reiVerf^^/.) What? What did you say ? 
BROWN. I said I left the child fifteen years ago on the twenty- 
third day of July. 

HARLOW. [Goiiiij towards Brown.] In what town do you pro- 
fess that you left your child? 

BROWN. In the town of Southport. 

MATIIjDA. Of course it was Southport. 

ALBERT!. For the love of hiven, will no wan stop that woman's 
jaw? 

HARLOW. What were the names of the people with whom you 
say you left her ? 

BROWN. I left her with an old farmer by the name of Ambrose 
Merrill. 

HARLOW. And the child's name was— quick ! man, quick ! 

BROWN. {Til ustoniHhmeni.) It was Guida; 

HARLOW. [Excited, and seizing Guida by the arm.] Child, 
listen to me ! Do you remember anything of your mother? 

GUIDA. At times it seems as if I did; but it is all so dim and shad- 
owy that it can hardly be called a memory. 

HARLOW. Rut can you recall nothing? Is there no cradle song 
that you remember? No melody that comes to you as if it were a portion 
of your very nature ? 

GUIDA. I do dimly remember a song; but whether it is something 
I have heard, or only imagined, I cannot say. 

HARLOW. Try to recall it, child I try to recall it ! 
Guida sings, soft and hesitating at first, then louder, 
joyous, and finally triumphant as the song progresses. 



JO SAWl'L'ST AND Sf'AXGr.KS 

Come darling, come, and I'U rock ihee I'l sleep. 

The litde birds long have been ciidtlled to rest. 
Under their mother's wing, in liie home nest. 

The stars from the clouds are bcginiiig to peep. 
So come darKng, come, and I'll rock thee to sleep. 

Come darling, come, and I'U rock thee to sleep. 
For the day, so long to thy babyish years, 

Has made thee wenry, with its smiles and tears; 
And the heavy white Hds o'er the bright eyes creep. 

So come darling, come, and I'll rock thee to sleep. 

I'Jj-i! KOSA r. I). 

HARLOW, That was your mother's song, my child. 

GUIDA. My mother I 

HARLOW. [Takitiff (i'lhhC/i hand.] liCt me hold your hand 
while I tell you a story, and when it is finished, .ns you forgive me or not 
there will be no need of wiird>, for you can withdr.iw your hand, or leave 
it where it now rests. I knew a yoiinjc; couple who, eighteen years ago, 
were secretly married, deceiving the world, and working misery for them- 
selves. A child was born — a little girl named ()uid;i, and the father car- 
ried it to the town of Southport, when it was two years old. The mother 
kept the child with h'jr u.) to tha. liai , de-;piie the fe ir th it her secret 
would be discovered; then she was taken sick, and it became necessary 
to intrust the child to strangers. This man tells a true story, in so far as 
the details are concerned. A circus was m the town at the time, and the 
farmer believed that the child's father was a member of the company. 
The father returned in one year, when it was possible to make his mar- 
riage public, to get his daughter; but was told that farmer Merrill had 
nn ve 1 West, and there had died. From that day almost until this, that 
father has been searching for his child. 

GUIIVA. Father! father! my own true father ! 

AL^CKTL Hooray f Degorra, how will liuu set uu Brow n's 



SAWDUST A^'D srANGLES. 71 

stomach? ■■ 

HARLOW. [To Brotvn.] Scoundrel, your base plot has failed, and 
although there is no punishment that would be too severe for the viliainy 
you would have perpetrated, I will not, in this hour, seek revenge. Let 
yovir conscience speak, as you think of what you would have done. Be- 
gone ! 

Exit BROWN C. D. with an air of bravado. 

AliBERTI. Faith, an' its light punishmint he'll get from his con- 
science. He'd have more understandin' for a Crack on the ^w» so he 
would. 

HARLOW, {lb Guida.) Can you forgive me, my child, for my 
seeming neglect? 

GUIDA. There can be no such thing as that a father needs to ask 
foigiveness of his child. But — my — mother? 

HARTjOW. She is with our Father in Heaven, my daughter. She 
grieved for you until her spirit burst its earthly bonds. Until the day of 
her death she never ceased to believe that we should find you. I could 
discover no trace of Merrill, and^ 

MATILDA. Oh, now I remember — I mean, I've heard them say 
that Ambrose Merrill did go West for a while, and intended to settle 
there. It was reported that he was dead; but it was false, for he caB»e 
home, and brought Guida with him, dying shortly after he arrived there. 
You must have gone to Southport while he was away. 

ALBERTL Well, be the powers, the ould woman has got a bit of 
sinse left I 

HARLOW. And will my girl obey me, when I tell her that she 
must leave the circus in order to make happy the home that has ever 
l.een filled with sorrow because of her loss? 

GUIDA. Indeed I will, father, and we will always have a welcome 
1 ere for any one belonging to the Great and Only, won't we? And we 
[Dalton steps forward tmvards her, holding out his hands 



;2 SA'.VDUST AND SPANCir.KS. 

iinpjnriiujly. Guida grows confused.] I— don't suppose— suppose 
we — we could — keep — one — one of the — the members here, could we ? 

HARLOW. {Lookinu <ti DdUon.) We will keep one of the mem- 
bers, my daughter, and the next favor you ask, I suppose, will be that I 
shall give away the child I have so lately found. 

Guida, standing C. uith Ilnrh/tv holding hi-r left hand, 
offers her right hand to Dalton, mho adrances, and 
takes it. 

ALBERTI. Bedad, but the lad's in luck ! 

MATILDA. [Crossing, and throu'ing her arms around At- 
berti's neck.] Oh, my dear, good Mr, Alberty, can you look on such a 
scene unmoved? Does not your heart yearn for something unspeakable? 

ALBERTI. [S'ruggling to release himself.) Begorra me heart 
yearns to lay me two hands on that villain Brown, an' by that same to- 
ken, I will before the day's many hours older. 

GUIDA HARLOW and DALTON, down stage. 

GUIDA. With a father and a— a— a Mr. Dalton, the foundling 
forsakes the sawdust and spangles of the circus, among which she found 
such true friends, leaving behind the sawdust of her life as she does that 
of the ring; but holding fast to the spangles of love from a father, and a- 
a-a Mr. Dalton, whi^h shall brighten the lives that have so long been 
desolate. 

CURTAIN. 



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